Overlord of Souls
by Omega Overlord
Summary: At the apex of his power, the Overlord is sadly lacking in new lands to conquer. A chance accident with the Tower Heart gives him that, and just maybe the path to an even greater power, Soul Edge. Eventual Overlord/harem.
1. The Legend Begins

Disclaimer: I do not own any character portrayed within.

Author's note: I will be portraying the Raising Hell Overlord, plus the Evil Presence spell.

Chapter 1: The Legend Begins

The Overlord stood upon the balcony of his throne room, staring out over the vast expanse of his Evil domain. From here, all he could see was the districts of Spree and Heaven's Peak. But he knew that his dominion stretched all the way from the Ruborian Desert to the forests of Evernight. This knowledge brought to mind a phrase written down in a memoire by one of his predecessors, 'and when he saw the length and breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more lands to conquer.' Weeping however, was not something he particularly felt like doing. Although his situation was the same, weeping like some traumatized wench would solve absolutely nothing. Perhaps some therapeutic smiting would help, halflings this time. Those particular screams were especially entertaining. Perhaps they reminded him of Melvin, and puncturing that bloated sack of flesh like a balloon.

With his mind set on some halfling hurting he began to make his way towards the dungeon. Gnarl met him halfway; "Up for a bit of smiting sire?"

He showed his approval by nodding his head, the move amplified by the arcanium helm upon his brow.

A wide grin spread across what passed for Gnarl's face. "Excellent sire, shall I call up some halflings? It has been some time since you deigned to grant them a quick death, by grinding their pathetic, flabby faces into the ground!"

He nodded again and descended into the dungeons, amazed at how Gnarl seemed able to read his mind at times. The dark, dank, gloomy dungeons. As he approached the pit in the center he could hear the screams. The cries of the melange of creatures and other sentient life that amounted to his own personal collection of smiting material.

Gnarl called down to him from the catwalks overlooking the pit. "Sire, I took the liberty of bringing the halflings up. They are awaiting your dark majesty in the arena."

Gnarl was always "taking liberties," and the only reason he hadn't punted the old minion across the tower like the oversized walnut he looked like was that most of the time he was doing the right thing. Like now for instance, it saved some time. The few times that the elder minion had gotten something wrong, the results were catastrophic. Like the incident with the crane recently. That event in particular just set his blood to boiling and made him want to hurt the halflings even more than before.

Gnarl yelled after him like an overbearing mother as he walked into the arena without summoning a single minion. "Sire, you'll need your minions!"

He shook his head and physically pulled the gate down behind him, sealing himself inside the arena with the thirty odd halflings that had been brought up from the dungeon and armed. If he needed his minions to take down only thirty halflings, then he was a pathetic excuse of an Overlord.

The sand of the arena floor crushed and shifted beneath his boots like the bones of the countless corpses he had left in his wake. His minions stood high in the stands, cheering him on and throwing witless insults at the halflings that were cowering against the far wall. The halflings were terrified of him before he even drew his blade, when he did a smell of panic joined the delightful stench of fear in the air.

His new minion jester, Quaver, announced the fight with a poetic flair in the reedy voice. "Greetings minions, and all followers of darkness! Today, our great and mighty master deigns to grace us with his presence, and to educate us all on proper smiting technique. Look how the halflings tremble in his presence, this will be a fight to remember!"

He took a moment to appreciate the great differential in skill between Quaver and his last jester. Had he known that he had a minion capable, not only of creating new inventive titles, but of waxing on poetically about his past exploits and making every small detail seem like an earth-shattering event. He should have promoted Quaver months ago. Of course, had he known the intentions of his last jester before the near miss in the Infernal Abyss the walking pile of dung wouldn't have lived long enough to create two of his list of titles. Perhaps, in retrospect, it would have been a good idea regardless. "Persecutor of Pumpkins?" He had kicked the old jester off of the tower many times for uttering that one.

On the other side of the arena, the halflings seemed to just notice the fact that he was alone. The gibberish spewing from their mouths as they attempted to whisper among themselves seemed to suggest that, since he was alone, they could kill him and finally escape the Dark Tower. The idea almost made him laugh, with emphasis on the almost. He would have to stand completely still for close to five minutes before he would even be in need of medical attention, and even that was iffy with the pathetic amount of skill he had seen halflings use a blade.

Exceptionally amused, he gestured for the halflings to come at him, and they predictably did. With a contemptuous flick of his blade he sent the head of the lead halfling rolling across the sand, followed by a swift impale of the halfling that leaped through the air at him. There were a few loud clicks as three of them started hacking at his legs, before he decapitated all of them with a single stroke, igniting the corpses and hurling them at the rushing mass. The rush of battle came upon him, and it seemed like only a few seconds later he was standing almost alone in the middle of the blood drenched sands. One lone halfling was still alive, and the one that had inspired the others to be so bold at that. The terror-stricken look upon the flabby little face, was beyond price. Come to think of it, there was a striking resemblance between this halfling and Melvin, of course before the latter became a walking ball of lard. A distant relative perhaps? Or could this be the attempt at a hero story where the son intentionally gets himself imprisoned on the oft chance he could avenge his father? Either way, he was going to have a bit of fun. He sheathed his blade and punched one armored gauntlet against the other, he was going to beat this halfling to death.

Quaver was quivering with excitement, no surprise really. "The gauntlet has been thrown down minions! Our lord has issued a challenge to the only hobbit left alive, can't say I envy the little butterball."

The halfling in front of him was shaking hard enough that he could see the blubber bouncing around, a truly repulsive sight to behold. Set on putting an end to this bought he started forward, the halfling matched every forward step with a backwards one. Irked, and at the same time pleased, by such cowardice he started to run after the halfling. His longer strides quickly closed the distance and he seized the halfling by both arms. It squealed for mercy like a stuck pig as he slowly crushed it's arms inside of his hands like twigs, before he flipped it over and did the same thing to it's legs. Finally, as the coup de grace, he grabbed the halfling by the throat and shook it until it was blue in the face before punting the corpse across the arena to splatter against the far wall.

The minions burst into wild applause while Quaver did his poetic duties. "The halfling he did try to run, but none can stand against our lord, when he wants to have a bit of fun!"

Finished with the brawl, he felt better, but only just. Conquering was in his blood, he wouldn't feel right unless he was out doing just that. Hell, he couldn't even gain a modicum of amusement from pillaging the Golden Hills every now and then. It kept his treasury filled to the brim, not that there was much strain on it these days. The only thing that drew from the huge pile of gold in the private quarters at the present time was the decent salary he paid to the servant girls he had 'persuaded' away from Spree. While he was thinking about it, he really should do something about the outfit that Gnarl had come up with as the servant uniform. He was evil to be sure, but he wasn't cruel, especially to his servants.

Gnarl came trundling down the stairs from the throne room to meet him, and the old minion looked positively elated. "Sire, I think you will be very pleased to hear this." The adviser beckoned for him to follow.

And follow he did, out of curiosity of what could get Gnarl so rustled up, and a not small amount of boredom. The afterglow of the halfling slaughter was wearing off rapidly and his foul mood was returning with a vengeance.

Gnarl led him down towards the crypt where the Tower Heart was kept, also where he had battled it out with the Old Overlord. "One of your minions Sire, Grubby if you want to know, was screwing around with the Tower Heart. And by 'screwing around' I mean he was dancing around on top of it. As I'm sure you are aware, the Browns are not the most coordinated of minions, Grubby fell off and hit the Tower Heart with his head on the way down. He's fine if you want to kick him around yourself." Gnarl paused to let out an evil chuckle. " What is most curious is that when he hit the Tower Heart he brought up a Tower Gate that I can't recall you ever using. Even more curious, the Gate refuses to let any of the minions through."

He would admit that he wasn't paying much attention to Gnarl's ramblings, as busy as he was looking over the hazy image presented in the gauzy lens of the Tower Heart. He could see a stone circle on top of a green hill. So, in theory, it could be the Gate in the Mellow Hills, but there was a pointed lack of trees or other distinguishing features. The sky that he could see was also slate grey, and he couldn't recall ever seeing it rain in the Mellow Hills, never even a wisp of cloud actually. With every detail that he did not recognize, he became just a little bit more excited. The prospect of new lands to conquer and subjugate sent his pulse racing, his black heart pumping almost as fast as it had during his battle with the Forgotten God.

With determination bordering on suicidal recklessness he gave the Tower Heart a light tap, locking the destination in to the mystery Gate. So what if he couldn't bring minions through the portal. If he absolutely needed assistance he could summon an almost limitless supply of Wraiths from the bowels of the Infernal Abyss with a purposeful wave of his arm. Otherwise he had himself, his arcanium blade enchanted with the power of a thousand Reds, and his arcanium armor enchanted with the power of five hundred Browns and Greens each. The armor alone would probably see him through. If it could take a full impact from both Kahn the Warrior and the Forgotten God then he doubted there was a force out there that could puncture it in a single blow.

Gnarl followed him on his heels, reiterating a lot of information he already knew. "Now don't forget Dark One, you can return to the Tower at any time should you wish it. I'm sure that the Tower Heart will be able to return you to the exact location you-"

He gently let the flat side of his blade fall down and lightly smote Gnarl over the head, just to shut him up. Gnarl obliged by being silent until he stood before the Portal.

Gnarl gave him a little wave. "Remember Sire, don't die. It would be a real shame to have to show the ropes to another new Overlord so soon, and especially after all you've accomplished!"

He waved off Gnarl's concerns and sprang into the waters of the Portal with a vigor comparative to a Brown jumping up and down on a fresh corpse, or a Red setting something on fire. The trip through the ethereal nothingness of the Portal took a good deal of time, far more than usual, leading him to believe that his destination was quite far away. Just when he started to wonder how much longer he would be floating through nothingness, he arrived.

What the Tower Heart had failed to show him was that it was raining wherever he was now. Nothing particularly heavy, just a light drizzle that made a delightful sizzling sound when it hit his sword or armor. Around him, the stone circle wrapped completely around the Tower Gate, like the giant wheel of a carriage with holes for the spokes that were not there. Now, he was completely convinced that he had never been here before. The promise of new lands to conquer pulled him out of the circle at a light jog, and right outside there was a small collection of men, soldiers, waiting for him.

One of them, with a decorative plume on top of his helmet, presumably a sign of rank, barked at him. "Oi, you there. This here is private property, what are you doing in Stonehenge?"

Instead of answering, he started to size up the eventual opposition, the quality of their weaponry, and the way they carried themselves. What he saw was encouraging. The metal seemed to be exclusively steel, which was a slight step down in quality when it came to recent enemies, but whoever had made it knew what they were doing according to his firsthand experience with forging. When it came to the soldiers themselves, he was a little bit let down, but he really couldn't expect all that much from rookies set out at some remote point, at least that's what his expert eye could discern.

His silence, coupled with his burning gaze, seemed to unnerve one of the rookies, who leaned over to the plumed soldier and whispered loud enough to be heard. "Sir, I don't think this lout likes you making demands of him."

Gnarls voice rang through his helmet. "What! How dare he insult your Dark Majesty? Teach them to respect your Evilness!"

He felt the overpowering urge to roll his eyes. As if he hadn't planned on smiting all but one of them already. He even had a good idea set in his head of how exactly they were going to come at him and set his stance accordingly.

The soldier with the plume drew a short sword and pointed at him, "Charge!"

He set his weight on his back foot, dissapointed by the predictable tactics, but prepared nonetheless. When the first soldier was about five feet away he took one step forward and flicked his blade up, followed by two quick swings left and right. In the space of only a few seconds he had decapitated three of the soldiers, and disemboweled the fourth. His arcanium blade cutting the steel like it wasn't even there.

The plumed soldier clearly wasn't being paid enough to die, and dropped to his knees. "Please don't kill me! I'm just doing my job!"

Gnarl mused through his helmet. "Ah, pathetic peons. Show the slightest bit of power and they all start groveling. Useful when taking over, but it gets troublesome when anyone else threatens them and they roll over."

The kneeling peon in front of him seemed to mistake Gnarl's voice as his. "Ah, I don't know what you mean sir. I just work in Southampton over yonder." The man pointed off to the southeast.

Gnarl's voice sounded positively giddy. "Well Sire, an Evil empire has to start somewhere. Sack that town!"

Had Gnarl been physically present, he would have punted the old minion however far he could. That old minion just could not shut up, or seem to comprehend that he did not actually need an instructor to tell him when to do everything. As it was, he motioned for the man on the ground to move out of the way. When he passed by, almost as an afterthought, he flicked his blade back and severed the top half of the soldier's head from the rest of him. He didn't need a guide to a town he could see off in the distance, and no one here needed to know that 'Stonehenge' was how he had arrived, plus it was fun.

Forty Five minutes later: outskirts of Southampton

The Overlord surveyed the simple, yet effective fortifications surrounding the town. Wooden posts had been drilled into the ground to make a simple barricade around three sides of the town, the fourth was protected by a large body of water he assumed was a sea. He could see a man up in a simple guard tower, but from here it was impossible to tell if they were armed or not. Best to assume that they were. A good rule of thumb for planning any battle was, 'plan for the worst, and hope for the best.' A lesson he had quickly taken to heart fighting his way through the Golden Hills for the first time. It had spared him the headache of summoning more minions more times than he could count.

Normally he would send a few Greens to the top of the tower and kill the solitary guard so he could take the whole town by surprise with Browns and Reds. However, minions didn't seem to be able to come through the Portal to where he was, so the Wraiths from the Abyss would do just fine. With a wave of his hand the skeletal beings started popping up out of the ground, with a small explosion of fire marking the construction of each one. He would rather have his minions due to the greater tactical diversity it allowed him, but you had to work with what was available.

A shock and awe plan formed up inside his head, involving a shielded Wraith, a few of the giants, and about thirty or so of the regular variety. He could be reasonably sure that the few real soldiers stationed in the town weren't all that skilled, so a small number of Wraiths would give him all the control he needed. Being dead, the Wraiths could take hits that would mortally wound a fleshy being, more so than even a Brown, much more so. The tradeoff was that the Wraiths were even more stupid than his minions and had no initiative. But at the moment he didn't need thinkers, he needed brute force. Checking one last time that he had all of the troops his plan required he signaled the Wraiths forward with a wave of his sword.

As he walked along in the wake of the Wraith charge he thought to himself about why he preferred his minions over the Wraiths. The Wraiths certainly did lots of damage, but they just did it. His minions relished in the carnage as much as, if not more than he did. Couple that with the overall hilarity of watching his minions go completely crazy when ordered to charge, practically foaming at the mouth and screaming their ridiculous battle cries it was no wonder at all. His minions were just more fun to use for an Evil Overlord.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a peasant armed with a shovel rushing towards the back of one of his gunner Wraiths. Now, technically the peasant could beat on that Wraith with the shovel all day and not kill it, but it would be just plain distracting looking at the broken up Wraith. Taking preventative measures, he took two steps forward and kicked the peon in the back hard enough to break the man nearly in half. That cry of pain, plus the sounds of burning wood and people was complete music to his Evil ears. It reminded him of razing Spree after they betrayed him to Kahn and the raiders. The part that particularly irked him about that betrayal was that he had been nothing but benevolent to those peasants, apart from requisitioning ten of their young women to work in his Tower. But that was still no reason to try and get him killed.

He saw a large flag made out of a white sheet waving around wildly in the hands of an elderly man standing on the roof of the only stone building in the town. In response he lifted his hand and stopped the Wraiths from attacking the humans.

The old man climbed down off of the roof and approached him, fear causing him to wring his hands like an old woman. "Who, whoever you are dark stranger, we surrender. Please, no more..."

The old man started to ramble about how cooperative they would be, but he found himself distracted by the sight of a young man trying to flee unnoticed through the carnage with a large leather tube strapped to his back. Here was a prime example of how stupid the Wraiths were. His minions were at least smart enough to automatically detain someone trying to flee. The Wraiths had been ordered to stop attacking, so they were just standing there while the boy ran right past their blank skulls. He remedied the situation by sending the shield Wraith after the runner. A few seconds passed before the loud splatter of a pulverized human carcass reached both him and the old man in front of him. He turned his attention back to the old man, and would have smiled if his helmet wasn't hiding his face. The effect however, was exactly the same. The old man turned as white as the sheet he was still holding and a distinctive smell filled the air as the old man soiled himself.

Not really caring, he gestured for the old man to lead him to the rest of the townsfolk while ordering the full company of Wraiths to fall in behind him for an added dramatic flair. Amusingly, and expectedly, the stone building seemed to be a church. It was amusing because people always complained to whatever god they happened to worship when things went wrong, and it was entertaining to watch the pall of hopelessness drift across the faces of the faithful. The Silent Order that worshiped him back at Heaven's Peak would never dare complain about their troubles to him, even if they could, for they knew him to be a wrathful 'god.' Looking inside the church, it was not hard at all to imagine that any god would abandon the sorry collection of dirty faced peasants.

One of the men that looked to be about middle aged, with a missing right arm, stood from the crowd and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction before drunkenly shouting. "Are you a servant of the Cursed Sword?"

He slapped the back of his helmet just to make sure Gnarl knew to stay quiet. Not that the drunken question didn't anger him, quite the opposite. But he had a history of being able to tolerate the drunken ramblings of most anyone. Besides, the mention of a 'Cursed Sword' intrigued him enough to allow the drunk to live for just a bit longer.

The drunk ignored the efforts of his fellows to shut him up. "I always knew the shadow of the Cursed Sword would cross the sea to get to us, especially after I lost my arm hunting the damnable thing down. Stupid, self-righteous woman, said it was for my own good taking my arm off-"

He cut the drunk off by punching them square in the mouth, the crunch of teeth breaking against his fist satisfying even more so because of the earlier comments from that mouth. Without further delay, he seized the drunk by the head and lit up the stone chamber with the blue glow of Evil Presence. He wanted to know about the Cursed Sword, and he wasn't going to waste time trying to get the drunk to answer questions. From the mind of his victim he pulled a name, Soul Edge, and a city, Ostrhinsburg. Both of them across the sea from where he was now.

Satisfied, he shot his knee up into the stomach of the drunk for good measure and turned to leave the church. It then hit him what exactly he was going to do with the town. He certainly didn't want to stay and whatever Soul Edge was the people feared it more than him. That alone gave him reason enough to seek it out and claim it if he could, destroy it if he couldn't. He had a reputation to uphold after all. With one last thought, he beckoned the shield Wraith to charge into the church. Moments later, bloody pulp was all that remained of the villagers of Southampton. And their only seaworthy ship in his possession. With the pulse of conquest thrumming through his veins, he commanded the Wraiths to set sail.

Authors Note: If there are any suggestions for Mistress, or more than one, please state any ideas in reviews or a private message.


	2. First Contact

Chapter 2: First Contact

The Overlord scanned the dusk horizon with the only instrument available to him, a rusted husk of a telescope that he had found in the Captain's cabin. It was a crude tool, but it served its purpose, not that he would be keeping it once he departed from the deck of this sad excuse of a ship. He should have realized, what with the state of the town of Southampton, that their only seaworthy vessel would be in a similar condition. It seemed every other hour the hull sprung a new leak, and every leak was something he had to take care of personally. It was either that or trust a Wraith that knew only how to destroy with a hammer and nails, not a good idea.

He tapped himself on the forehead with his knuckles, bringing his attention and thoughts away from his problems to the task at hand, finding land. The drunk back in the church had pointed due East when mentioning the Cursed Sword, and he had later confirmed the direction by sifting through the mind of that individual. That meant there was land in this direction, unless the humans here had developed a miraculous ability to breath underwater like the Blues. And from the many bodies of the townsfolk he had seen drowned back in the village harbor, that was a highly unlikely scenario. He had resolved to sail straight East until he hit land, and that had been almost five days ago. He doubted that there was much more water to cross before he arrived on terra firma, but with the lack of sunlight that was a little difficult to ascertain.

He was disturbed from the quiet confines of his thoughts by a shot from the gunner Wraith he had stationed in the crow's nest. Seeing as how the Wraiths couldn't speak he had ordered the lookout to shoot straight up if it saw anything that wasn't a Wraith, or himself. Obviously the lookout saw something that he couldn't. He was hoping for land, but another ship would do. Especially if it remained in good condition after the Wraiths and himself stormed over. But he was getting ahead of the facts. Since he couldn't see anything up front, perhaps to the rear of his vessel. When he swung his rusty telescope around to the stern he noticed what the lookout had, a ship, still off in the distance but closing quickly. Not surprising when he considered the condition of his vessel compared to the obvious quality of the pursuing one.

Now he had the object, what remained was to discover the intent. Possibly pirates, if so then they were about to make the worst mistake of their soon to end lives. But pirate ships tended to not fly any flags until they were within striking distance. This ship was proudly flying a red, white, and blue flag that consisted of a large cross running diagonally across the fabric. So, either a merchant ship, or a military one. If it was the latter things could get quite interesting. Making a couple of quick decisions he ran a flag that stood for distress up the mast of his ship, and ordered all of the Wraiths below deck. When he was satisfied that the pursuing vessel had taken notice of the flag, he joined the Wraiths below deck and closed the door to the hold behind him. Fortune willing, he would soon have a quality ship to speed him on his way.

British Merchant Ship:

Nathaniel "Rock" Adams watched the water slowly slip away behind the merchant ship he had paid for passage on. A whole year had passed since his last journey for Soul Edge, and his quest to defeat the "Black Giant," Astaroth. He knew that he had never come close to the evil sword itself, but he had managed to confront Astaroth. The battle had raged on, and he had been about to deal the final blow. But in a cruel, and some would say humorous, mirror of fate, Astaroth had thrown himself from the battlements of Ostrhinsburg and into the city moat. He knew that he had seen the giant swimming away from the city, and also knew that the giant would seek revenge. He would have continued deeper into Ostrhinesburg, but the battle with Astaroth had left him too drained to keep fighting. So he had left the cursed city behind and returned to the New World, content that he was a worthy father to his boy, Bangoo.

When he returned to where he had left his son, the village had been destroyed, but Bangoo had been very much alive. His son had fought off the attackers with a woodsman's axe. The memory filled him with an unquenchable feeling of pride even now. Bangoo had been determined to make his own way, and despite the sense of loss that he was sure most parents felt he had given his boy his utmost blessings, and watched Bangoo walk away.

With his affairs settled, he was returning to Europe to hunt down Astaroth once and for all. This time, either the Black Giant would die, or he would. It was ironic really, he had learned from Astaroth that the golem had in fact been built to mimic him, the so called "White Giant." Under normal circumstance, like if some artist or sculptor had wanted to copy him he would have been flattered. But using his image to design a killing machine was beyond the pale.

A commotion further towards the bow of the ship caught his attention, and before he headed that way he took the time to heft his hammer over his shoulder. Once he cleared the mass of wood that housed the Captain's cabin and supported the helm he became acutely aware of the chill Western wind, making him pause to thank the spirit of the bear he had skinned to make the jacket he was wearing.

The captain of the ship, a former royal marine that went into the private sector after losing a leg to a pirate attack, was arguing with the merchant that chartered the ship. "I'm not going to tell you again, I am bound by maritime law to assist any vessel that flies those colors. It is a clear sign that they need our help."

The merchant was a fat man that had clearly been born into his money, and did not seem to understand such things as "decency" or "kindness." "And I am not going to tell you again, I am paying you to get me to France. That ship could be housing pirates that are going to jump and kill all of us the moment we pull up alongside them."

The captain slammed his crutch down onto the deck in exasperation. "For the umpteenth time, all of my men are experienced hands that will not shy away from a puny pirate attack. If it helps allay your fears, there couldn't be that many men on board the other ship anyway. It's tiny compared to ours."

The merchant didn't seem convinced, and it was starting to look like he never would. Then the merchant looked down and noticed the shadow looming over him. "Ah, and here comes our resident giant. What say you good sir? I know you to be a man of, good sense."

He rubbed his temples with his free hand, clearly the merchant was attempting to sweet talk him into disagreeing with the captain. But being who he was, he liked helping people in need. That made his choice very clear. "I say we find out what kind of help they need."

The merchant's disapproving stare could have withered the trunk of a great oak tree. "And, if this call for help should be a ruse?"

He didn't answer with words, but instead let the business end of his hammer fall into his open hand. Saying very clearly that if pirates were springing a trap, that they would have him to answer to.

The captain seemed to consider the argument won. "Jolly good man, that's exactly what I've been trying to tell this bloody idiot." The captain rounded to the crew. "Alright gents, bring her alongside. But be ready for anything!"

He fixed his gaze on the small ship rapidly growing in size as it drew closer. As he looked on, he felt the slightest bit of dread for some unspeakable reason. Just before the captain drew even with the smaller ship, he thought he saw a pair of burning eyes in one of the portholes on the side of the hold. But he dismissed it as a trick of the bright sun.

Southampton ship:

The Overlord watched through the porthole on the right side as the larger ship drew alongside. At the last second before he moved away from the view he was sure that a giant of a man on the other ship saw him. But if his good fortune held the giant would dismiss it as a figment of their imagination. After all, how many times in a person's life would they see a pair of burning golden eyes? He shot a glance over his shoulder at the assembly of Wraiths, and made sure that the shield Wraith was in the lead. It just would not do for him to lose troops to a friendly charge.

A vibration shook his ship as the other one made contact. At this moment, a less tactically inclined individual would charge out like an overeager Brown. But he knew that he had to wait until there was a significant portion of the ships crew over on his small vessel. A sense of camaraderie would prevent the other ship from fleeing when he sprung his trap if there were still men on his deck. The giant he had seen also concerned him, stature wise he was reminded of Kahn the warrior. The same could be said of the choice of weapon, a hammer that looked big enough to cause some serious damage if it hit him.

Regardless of the giant, the time to move had come. He could hear the footsteps of the other sailors on the deck. At an order from him, the shield Wraith burst through the door to the hold and out onto the deck. Almost instantly, screams of terror and pain filled the air. As well as the panicked cries of "what is that" or "get away!" A little panic was always fun, but he was more interested with how the giant was going to deal with his troops. Perhaps they would actually pose a challenge for him.

The moment he stepped out of the hold his boots kicked against the shattered remains of one of his Wraiths. The amusing thing was that the Wraith was still technically alive, as the eyes were still glowing and the mouth still moving. He remedied the irritant by stomping on the skull and putting the Wraith out of its figurative misery. Then he looked up and watched the giant smash one of the other Wraiths to pieces in one blow. Not interested in losing more troops, he charged forward and rammed the giant in the back like a bull. Ironically like what the giant was doing to his troops.

The differential in stature wasn't that much, but clearly his opponent was a skilled fighter. For the sole reason that the giant didn't stay down on the deck for little more than a second. When the other fighter got back to their feet he noticed that his opponent was covered in fresh cuts, was the warrior immune to pain? Or simply ignoring it while the fight was still going? Either way it took a great will to accomplish, and that was worthy of a modicum of respect. He'd try to make the giant's death a quick one, but judging from the number of small wound they had already taken it probably wasn't going to be that simple. He ordered the rest of the intact Wraiths to storm the other ship while he dealt with the giant personally.

He held his arcanium blade before him and slowly started to circle the giant, probing with his eyes to find flaw in form or motion that he could exploit. But without giving him the time to formulate a plan the giant rushed him and threw a wild horizontal swing that he barely parried before taking the hammer to the side of his head. Regardless of the strength of his armor taking a hit like that would hurt, quite a bit. But still, the rush had given him the insight he needed. His opponent had no plan beyond wading in swinging. To give himself some space he kicked the giant in the stomach and backed away. Readying himself for the impending charge he held his blade behind him and waited. True to form, the giant charged and held the hammer high over his shoulder, a clear tell that a vertical slam was imminent. When the swing came he stepped back just enough that the swing would miss, waited until the hammer had made contact with the deck, and thrust his blade up into the stomach of the giant.

If he had had the time he would have withdrew his blade and cleanly taken the giant's head off. But as it was the other ship shook and some of the bridges started to fall away between the conjoined vessels. Mentally cursing circumstance he yanked his blade from the giant and sprinted across the only plank left connecting the two. As his new ship started to pull away he cast a glance back at the old chunk of floatsam he had abandoned, and he could clearly see the giant standing from where they had fallen. His respect for the man went up by a small amount. Truly, it took an indomitable will to get back up after being impaled. He actually found himself hoping that the giant would beat the odds and get to land so they could do battle again. Maybe next time he would make an effort to recruit the man. The odds were slim, but as he had seen over the course of both of his lives, anything could happen.

Southampton Ship:

Rock watched his former ride sail away, doing his best to staunch the bleeding from his sword wound. Thankfully whatever that sword had been made of had partially scorched the entire entry wound, keeping what would have been a mortal wound to something that was just extremely painful. Either way, he knew there was now a far more dangerous threat than Astartoth out there. But at the moment he was in no shape to chase after either threat. For now, all he could do was rest and try to recover.

Landfall: Kingdom of Wolfkrone

The Overlord leapt from the bow of the ship and hit the ground on the beach where he had run his temporary ride aground. He stood, and slowly began to survey his surroundings. The wilderness was lush, verdant, and totally unlike the forests of Evernight. He saw trees that had no leaves, just thousands of small needles. There was also a smell to these trees that had a bit of a bite to it, not particularly harsh, but he found the aroma rather pleasant. Speaking of pleasant oders, he snapped his fingers and ignited his former ride by dismissing all of his Wraiths. Whatever the smell was coming from the trees, he enjoyed the smell of burning things more. Besides, if he was alone he could travel in a more discreet manner. Gnarl would balk at the idea of an Overlord being subtle, but the former Overlord had certainly been subtle enough that he could learn a thing or two from the events.

As he set off into the trees he kept trying to draw comparisons between Evernight and where he was now. But he continually could not find a one save for the birds chirping away in the branches high above him, and even they sounded far different. Evernight was warm, this place was cool. Evernight was dark and dank, this place was bright and ultimately cheery. He was so distracted by his surroundings that he almost stepped right off of a large, and very high up cliff. The only thing that had notified him that he was about to take an uncomfortable plunge was a shower of stone dislodged by his boots as it hung over the drop.

Mentally beating himself for not paying attention, he still took the opportunity to survey the land before him from his vantage point. From here, all he could see was a sea of needle green from here to the far horizon. Barring the occasional ridge that sheltered whatever lay on their opposite side from his glowing gaze. He was no stranger to long treks however, this would just be another one of those.

Just as he was about to move off, a flash of movement caught his attention deep in the trees almost directly below him. Curious, not to mention cautious, he held his position and waited until he had a clear view of whatever it was. A few moments passed of him tracking flashes through trees before his target stopped in a small clearing directly below him. It was a woman, alone, and from here he was unable to tell if she were armed or not. In the generous light of the sun he could see the color of burnished gold reflecting a bit of light up at him, scattering the light like the shattered remains of a mirror. There was a small satchel hanging from her shoulder, which he could reasonably assume held provisions, and her weaponry if she possessed any. If she didn't, it would be incredibly stupid of her.

Casting his gaze about, he searched for a way to quickly descend to where the mystery woman had stopped. Whoever she was, she would likely know where he was, if not where he could find Ostrhinsburg. Much as he would have wished otherwise, he could not dominate people from this distance. Moving on a whim, he knelt to inspect the stone upon which he was standing. His time in the dwarven kingdoms had given him a very decent knowledge of stone, and this particular stone was soft. Soft enough to easily be gouged out by, say, a piece of arcanium metal. He flexed the fingers of his off hand and looked back and forth between his gauntlet and the stone. This was, without question, one of the crazier ideas he had ever come up with.

Cliff Base: Wolfkrone Wilderness

Sophitia Alexandra stopped against the trunk of a tree to catch her breath, among other things. She had been chased by Wolfkrone soldiers since early yesterday morning when they caught sight of her attempting to travel along the road to Ostrhinsburg. Clearly the queen of Wolfkrone remembered faces quite well, and remembered minions of the Evil Sword, current and former, with particular malice. That particular thought, how she had been used to shield Soul Edge from the wrath of the Spirit Sword, caused all of the feelings of guilt to well up again like pus from a lanced boil. Not only had she killed and maimed countless people in the name of Soul Edge, but in the end it had all amounted to absolutely nothing. Soul Edge, or Nightmare, had devoured Pyrrah through the connection that his servant, Tira, had built. The worst of it wasn't even immediately apparent. When she had fled to her home in Greece a true nightmare for a parent awaited her. Pyrrah had become an undead abomination, had killed both Rothion and Patralkos, and tried to murder her the moment she walked through the door. At the time, she had acted on instinct, but the little body that wound up pinned to one of the support posts of her home, by her blade, was still completely recognizable as Pyrrah. It was the symbolism of the moment that was killing her. Shoving in her face the fact that she had failed everyone she had ever loved. Even her sister, Cassandra, was missing. Months of searching, of asking every single person she came across if they had seen her sister, nothing. Not for the first time the thought crossed her mind that it might be better if she just surrendered to the pursuing soldiers, then she couldn't ruin anyone else's life.

A small impact on the top of her head caused her to reflexively swat at it. But the small pebble that fell from the same direction drew her to look up, and immediately scramble out of the way of the towering figure clad in glittering black armor sliding down the cliff side. The knight, that was the only word she could think of to describe someone wearing that much armor, was sending down showers of dust and smaller rocks. It really was a wonder that she hadn't taken notice until just now. But she supposed it was only something she could expect when she got lost in her thoughts like she just had been.

The knight crashed down exactly where she had been sitting. Moving as smoothly as she would expect from a supremely experienced combatant. Smooth, but there was weight to the movement comparable to Astaroth, whether that translated to slow remained to be seen. As he stood, she found it hard to imagine the titan in front of her as a female, she became acutely aware of the eyes. Two baleful golden gems set in flawless obsidian that seemed utterly neutral, and yet dominating at the same time. She, she almost felt like her will to fight was being leeched away with every second she stared into those eyes. She gave herself a mental slap and retrieved her weapons from her satchel. The familiar feel of the sword and shield lending her a quick boost to her flagging resolve. Even with the deep feelings of guilt attached to these pieces of metal.

From her past, she had a very good idea of what this knight was after, and voiced the thought. "You are here to seek out the Evil Sword, aren't you?"

The Overlord felt that what he had just done was an extremely stupid idea, he still felt the ache in his knees even with the astronomically fast healing granted to him by his armor. Still, the ache would go away with time, and he had gotten down to the woman in record time. Now that he was face to face, moderately, he was rather impressed with how beautiful she actually was. Fair skin framed by the golden hair he had noticed from above, long voluptuous figure. Possibly even more impressive, the way she held the short sword and shield meant that she knew how to use them, how effectively remained to be seen.

The woman looked him in the eyes, shook under his gaze, but rallied and spoke aloud a question that he was waiting to hear. "You are here to seek out the Evil Sword, aren't you?"

As he had expected, she knew what he was after. That meant two things, she knew where the sword was, and she knew how to get there. So, deciding to be honest, he nodded his head once in affirmation.

The woman looked down for a moment, "I see." Then quickly shifted her stance from ready to openly aggressive. "I can't let you do that. I've sworn to destroy the Cursed Sword for what it's done to me." She leaped forward and locked the edge of her blade with the flat side of his. "Trust me, this is for your own good."

That last line reminded him of something the drunk back in Southampton said. Odds were that this might be the same woman who had maimed that former swordsman. It also made him think of several hero stories he had heard, those of the hero, or in this case heroin, with the messiah complex. They felt that they were saving people through self-sacrifice, a laughable idea to him. Mentally he shook himself and turned his attention back to the duel in progress. He was taller, had more reach, and was much stronger. That much was essentially a given. What she had, was that she was much faster on her feet than he was. And there was the curious case of her weaponry, which smelled of plain steel but did not get chipped or gouged by his arcanium blade. She was fast, but he had a very deft control of his blade, enough to keep her in check and prevent her from landing any serious hits. Why did he bother fighting with skill when he knew his armor could handle a straight on stab? Following the obvious logic of, 'if he didn't keep his skills sharp against enemies that couldn't hurt him, how would he ever fight against something that could?'

He slowly gave ground in a circle around the clearing, looking for a pattern, a tell that he could use to counterattack and bring her down without excessive harm. A few more steps back and he had his cue. Every time she dropped her left hip she was about to throw a step in thrust that had already nicked his stomach several times. He gave further ground until his back heel was braced against a firm rock, and he waited. When the tell came he pushed off of the rock and brought his right arm down, around, and back up, trapping her sword arm. A light tap drew his attention to his abdominal area, she had punched him in the stomach with her shield. A good effort, if futile, that he remedied by trapping her shield arm in the same manner. A further impact, accompanied by a loud crack of metal on bone, drew his attention further down. The woman's left knee was bleeding, and there was a small trace of blood on the codpiece of his armor. In simpler terms, she had tried to drive her knee up into his groin.

Ending the fight, he put his foot up into the woman's stomach before pushing hard enough to put her flat on her back, with his heavy boot pinning her there. Behind him, both of the woman's weapons clattered to the ground out of reach. Now, the holy trinity for agents of Evil was rape, pillage, and plunder. But he had no interest in the first part of that. All he wanted right now was for the woman beneath his boot to tell him how to get to Soul Edge.

His captive seemed to sense what he wanted. "I'll never tell you where to find the Cursed City."

Frankly, he had to beg to differ. He took his foot off of her chest and held his open palm over her forehead, preparing to unleash Evil Presence and dominate her mind.

Sophitia had thrown everything she had into toppling the titan now pinning her to the ground under a boot that felt as heavy as a whole anvil. Yet nothing she had done even seemed to faze the knight. The scratches she had made on the glittering black metal had closed on their own, and every parry had sapped far more of her strength than it should have. She knew towards the end she had become predictable. For that, she blamed fatigue and desperation. It hardly mattered now though with the position she was in. Her captor looking down at her, eyes as neutral as ever. Somehow, she got the feeling that he was expecting something. Then it hit her, the knight wanted to find Soul Edge.

A last act of defiance filled her, thinking that the knight would surely kill her when she refused to divulge the information. "I'll never tell you where to find the Cursed City."

The eyes revealed nothing, no anger, nor rage, nor disgust. The knight simply removed his boot from her. Just like that he was going to let her go? No, there had to be something else. She tried to sit up, but stopped herself before she touched the gauntlet that was now hovering over her face. Before she could think of anything a burst of blue light exploded from the palm of the knight, blocking out everything else. What felt like chains started to wrap around her every limb, and a weight settled in her mind like a mythical dragon squatting over its treasure hoard. And along with the weight, an almost compulsive need to spill everything she knew about Soul Edge.

Against her will she started to speak. "I, Soul Edge is..." She forced her mouth shut with every shred of will she could muster.

The Overlord held the spell of domination loosely, mildly impressed by how long the woman had resisted before being overwhelmed. She was still fighting him, struggling against the spell with a rage that most would call feral. Most people, once he had fully dominated their minds, just gave up, meekly submitting to any order or suggestion that he made. But this one, he actually felt himself growing a true feeling of respect for whomever she was. Still, she was hindering his quest and he upped the pressure on her mind to more than twice of what was required for ninety five percent of people.

What he wanted to hear came out as a pained gasp, resistance causing her to stop and start at regular intervals. "The Cursed City... and Soul Edge... are twenty days walk... East of here."

Satisfied, he removed his hand. The blue crackle of magic in the air around her head a sign that she was still under his control, as was the visible slump in her shoulders. On a whim, he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, releasing the spell and his hold on her mind. The woman instantly scrambled backwards away from him, the knee she had used on his codpiece not entirely holding her weight.

The woman's face was a blend of many emotions like surprise, shock, and caution. And her voice carried those same qualities. "You, you're letting me go?"

He nodded, and as proof he kicked both sword and shield across the clearing to her. She snatched up the weapons, and hesitantly took a step back. By that point he knew that she had already decided to take him up on his offer and run. Her mind just hadn't quite caught up with her body in that regard. When it did she turned away and quickly made off into the trees, moving with the slightest hint of a limp.

Gnarl's voice buzzed to life in his ear. "Sire, are you sure your're feeling alright? Not a bit lightheaded perhaps? You realize that you just let the wench go?"

He slapped the back of his helmet in response, causing his ears to ring. But the point of it was that the feedback loop would give Gnarl a little shock for questioning his judgment.

A small shriek preceded the apologetic platitude, "Of course sire, it's your call."

That matter settled, he turned due East and started walking. Before he could make it to the trees however there was a disturbance in the brush to the South and East of him. Hand on his blade, he waited for whatever it was to reveal itself. First one armored soldier emerged and he relaxed, then five more, followed by a whole battalion. He quickly realized that an entire army was emerging from the brush on all but one side of him, leaving him no other way to flee than directly after the woman. He knew it would be suicide to try taking on an entire army by himself, as it didn't become a question of if they hit the soft spots in his armor, but when they hit. He didn't even have the time to summon a few Wraiths in a delaying tactic before he sprinted off away from the steel clad warriors.

Crashing through the trees he spotted the woman from before moving off at a snail's pace, and it hit him that the soldiers must have been originally chasing her. Not really thinking about it he snatched the blond up as he passed by and tucked her under his arm. He could hear her protesting quite loudly, but the protesting stopped the moment a large javelin thundered out of the overhead branches and came to a quivering stop in a tree just to the right of him, coincidentally the very same side he was holding her on.

As he settled into running a plan started to form in his head, not just a plan for escape, something that he could easily do with a wave of his hand, but a plan to take a huge number of the pursuing soldiers out before he made a break for it back to his Tower. All he needed was the right bit of terrain, and the ravine immediately to his left was just perfect. He skidded to a halt by the entrance to the ravine and started to wait. He had to make sure the soldiers saw him going down.

His passenger understandably had no idea why he had stopped. "What are you doing?"

Ignoring the woman momentarily he threw a quick fireball at the first soldier to poke their head out of the trees before sprinting down into the stone bottleneck and stopping against the far end.

A depressed and dejected sigh escaped his charge. "Brilliant, now you've doomed both of us."

Again ignoring her, he sheltered the woman's vulnerable body from a few flung javelins with his free gauntlet. Perhaps eager to avenge the ashen remains of their comrade the full bulk of the army was crowding down into the canyon, exactly like he wanted them to. Waving his hand through the air he activated the Infernal Shield and shot away from the wall like a comet across the night sky. The soldiers were completely unable to avoid contact with the boiling surface of his shield, perishing instantly upon said contact and becoming mere ash moments later. He rolled up the path like a giant, blood red orb of death, and immediately opened the gate before he ran out of Mana to support the spell. By his estimate he had wiped out almost the entire army, with up to ten survivors.

His passenger was looking around in complete disbelief. "Wha... Where... How..."

Gnarl approached from the throne end of the room. "Welcome back sire, I trust that you..." The old minion's eyes fixed upon the woman under his arm and lit up. "Ooh! It seems you've found yourself a delightful trophy on your first expedition sire." Gnarl's claws started clicking together and he could almost see the depraved gears start turning in the old minion's head. "Shall I get one of the servants to fetch this one a..." Gnarl paused due to a wicked chuckle, "...uniform?"

The sudden sensory and information overload appeared to be utterly too much for his charge, and the woman went completely limp in his arms.

Wolfkrone Castle:

Hildegard von Krone, Hilde to her close friends, of which there were few, stared off to the East to the black specter of Ostrhinsburg she could see on the horizon. That city, and what lay within was quickly becoming the bane of her existence. Swallowing up entire battalions of warriors that just ventured into the general vicinity. Not even mentioning the numbers of troops she had lost against the vile Black Giant alone, and the other greater minions of the Evil Sword.

The door opened and paranoia caused her to identify the face as familiar before lowering he lance. "You have news of the pursuit?"

Her knight-general saluted sharply before responding. "Yes, but I doubt you will take the tidings well."

The start of a migraine drew her hand up to her left temple. "More bad news, why am I surprised anymore." She attempted to will the migraine away with only partial success, then beckoned to her knight-general. "Let's have it then, it can't keep getting worse."

The knight-general scowled, "I do wish you would stop saying that milady, you seem to have the unfortunate tendency to jinx the troops." The man pulled the door open again and shouted into the hall; "Bring him in."

Moments later a soldier, or rather what was left of a soldier, was carried in on a gurney. There was nothing left of the man's left arm but a blackened stump. The rest of the man didn't exactly look healthy either, whatever had obliterated the soldier's arm had almost completely cooked the rest of him. It was nothing short of a miracle that the soldier was still alive.

Aware that the miracle might not last much longer she set a soothing hand on the soldier's right shoulder. "Who did this to you?"

A cough preceeded the string of words. "We were chasing down the woman that killed your last bodyguard."

Shock made her jump to a conclusion. "That Greek woman did this to you?"

The soldier shook his head, then winced at the action. "No, we had her on the run and encountered something else. Something that threw fire from its hand and killed our men with complete impunity, like a wrathful god." The man coughed again and it became clear that his life was failing. "The titan protected the Greek woman and fled through a void that opened at his command."

Another bought of coughing signaled the onset of the end, and she had enough decency to not berate a dying man with more questions than they could answer. One thought fixated itself in her mind, enough was enough. Come the following day she was recalling all of her troops and leading them personally on a cleansing sweep through the entire wilderness. No one, not the Greek woman, not the Black Giant, and not this new envoy of Evil.


	3. Golden Opportunity

Chapter 3: Golden Opportunity

Dark Tower: Guest Room

Sophitia felt her eyes snap open and she automatically reached for her sword and shield. She felt her hands close around the familiar handles, then she remembered where she was and a twinge of surprise made her wonder why her captor would let her keep her weapons. Either he felt completely sure that she was no threat to him in wherever she now was, he was stupid, or he wasn't as diabolic as he had at first seemed. She really didn't put much faith in the second possibility due to her earlier loss to the same man, also, she didn't know which of the other possibilities she would prefer.

Trying to be as quiet as she could she slipped out of the bed and began to move towards the stairs leading down. She felt extremely exposed, and due to the complete silence around her she felt that every slight footfall that she made was as loud as the roar of a wild animal. It did cross her mind to try and find where the knight was sleeping, if he slept at all, and attempt to kill him, but she could waste hours trying to find him that she could use escaping via the one solid idea she had about this building. The pool of water she had momentarily seen before she became overwhelmed by the strange surroundings seemed to be some kind of gateway, or portal. The knight had simply jumped through a hole in the air to bring her here. Why should it be any more complicated to get back to where she had been? She would work out the 'how' once she had the opportunity to.

At the bottom of the stairs she saw the giant throne she had momentarily seen before losing consciousness, it then logically followed that the portal was on the opposite end of the same room. Still cautious even with the possibility of freedom close at hand she slowly peeked around the corner, being careful to keep the rest of herself hidden in the shadows of the stairway. On the floor, just around the same corner, was a small creature that slightly resembled descriptions of goblins in some of the stories she had heard as a child. This one was blue, dressed in mostly cosmetic objects that looked remotely tribal, had a long tail, and made a gargling sound as it breathed in long, even breaths. About to disregard the sleeping thing she caught sight of a small length of bloodstained bandage clutched in one of the creature's scaly hands. The sight reminded her, quite suddenly, that she had been hurt and limping upon her arrival here. She had injured her knee upon driving it up into the groin of the knight and had been walking around on that same knee since awakening with absolutely no trouble. She felt for the injury, and instead found a section of her skin that felt absolutely flawless, perfect, as if she had led a life of luxury and leisure instead of fighting for her life every other day. The implication was not lost on her, the blue thing was a servant of the knight and it had helped her. The possibility that it was by the order of the knight himself was very prominent in her head.

Regardless of whether the knight had helped her, he was still openly pursuing the Cursed Sword for the purpose of possession. She couldn't allow that to happen regardless of the intent. She lightly stepped by the blue creature, who sniffed and shifted but did not wake, and traded stealth for speed until she reached the edge of the pool. Now that she was here, her plan tapered out. She knew this pool was a gateway of some kind, but not how to activate it. Perhaps a simple touch would do the job? That the touch could inadvertently send her to some alternate hellish dimension was a real possibility, but it was a risk she would have to take. She crouched by the water and lightly brushed the surface of the water with her fingertips. In the water appeared a distorted image of a circle of stone atop a lone grassy hill under a slate grey sky. Unable to recognize the location she tried touching the water again, moving her fingers across the surface slowly from left to right. What appeared looked like a stone rock face with a skull motif carved out of many individual bits. While she could respect the skill it would take to make a real stone effigy like that, the image did not look like anywhere she knew, so she made the same motion across the surface of the water again. This time, a sun drenched mountainside appeared in the water. Trees could be seen at odd points across the slopes that supported little else but grass. Every few moments she could see what looked like sheep cross the open slopes, either grazing or just running. In the background, she could see what looked like the vague outline of a castle or fortress, quite similar to the outline of Ostrhinsburg in fact. Perhaps this whole 'being kidnapped' debacle could actually have a silver lining and shave a few weeks off of her travel time.

A reedy, demented little voice rang out in the dark from just to her left. "Oooh, sheepies!"

She froze, before slowly turning her head to look for the source of the voice. What she saw was similar in size to the blue thing she had seen asleep by the stairs, only this one was brown and wearing a practical leather jerkin in addition to a metal cap. The thing also had a large pair of pointy ears that were covered in patches of dark, sparse hair. Its eyes were huge compared to its physical size, and glowed slightly in the dark.

The little face turned towards her and opened its mouth, revealing a set of badly taken care of, brown, stubby teeth. "Pretty lady not supposed to leave yet. Sorry, dem's da rules."

Fear and not a small amount of disgust pushing her, she wound up and kicked the little monster with all the strength she could gather. The thing flew through the air a good seven or eight feet before crashing into a column with a disturbingly loud crack. Relieved, she let out a small sigh before turning back to the pool of water.

The same demented voice cackled in the darkness, "Whee! Pretty lady make Minion fly, do it again!"

She whirled around and the same little creature was bounding across the floor and singing her praises at the top of its lungs. Disbelief fueled the question that poured from her lips. "What kind of masochistic little demon is this thing?"

Another dry voice, this one sounding far saner, floated through the air to her. "Demon, no, but demented enough to be, most definitely." What looked like an overgrown walnut with ears walked out of the shadows behind the throne and crossed the intervening distance in slow measured steps. "I knew you would try and escape eventually, but the very instant you woke up? Impressive." The sane creature gestured to the water behind her. "I see you managed to get the Portal working, not bad. But I would strongly advise against going through, doing so could be quite hazardous to your long term health."

With a last glance over her shoulder at the water to make sure it was still showing the same place she kicked the hopping thing one more time and shouted defiantly; "So would staying here!" Then she jumped feet first into the portal.

Gnarl took his time moving over to the Portal, wanting only to see where the stupid wench had gone for his impending report to The Overlord. The Master would be most interested in where his new slave, or servant, or whatever had fled to. He had been telling the truth to, not trying to scare the girl into staying. But some people were determined to be stubborn.

He muttered to himself while taking the stairs to the Private Quarters one by one. "Why in the name of all the worms in the Spawning Pits would that wench run to the Golden Hills? At best she's going to wind up a slave to the dwarves. At worst..." He chuckled at the twisted image his mind came up with. "...food for the slugs."

Dark Tower: Overlord's Private Bedroom

The Overlord ran the polishing rag over his blade for what felt like the thousandth time. He knew he didn't need to polish arcanium due to the inner magic of the metal, but it was a habit he had picked up from wielding steel and durium weaponry for such a long time before upgrading to arcanium. Back then he had to scrimp and scrounge for the gold to pay for the smelting process before hammering out the metal to his specifics. Now he could probably forge ten whole sets of arcanium armor before his treasury went dry. It was amazing how much a few months of idleness could do when you didn't need to dig into the bank.

There was a short knock on his door quickly followed by the sound of it opening. Only one being in the Tower would do that without expecting to get kicked, Gnarl. True enough, the elder minion hobbled into his line of sight shortly after the door closed.

Gnarl started to speak; "Forgive the intrusion Sire, but I thought you might be interested to know that your, ah, guest has left the Tower."

Not surprised in the least, he motioned with his right hand for Gnarl to continue.

The minion obliged, "The Portal shows that the wench fled to the Golden Hills, I'm not quite sure why. But it has been a about half an hour, by now it is very likely that she is either dead or a slave." A moment passed before Gnarl added, "If you feel inclined to chase after her anyway, I must warn you that the Tower Heart will not remember your last known location as where you escaped with the wench. You would need to go back through our mystery gate and return the old fashioned way, by foot, or however you managed to get there. I would know myself, but alas, theses old eyes can't stay open all the time."

He set his head in his left hand and started to think, in both logical and illogical trains of thought. Logic was split down the middle on the subject. On one hand, he would waste time going after her that he could use searching for Ostrhinsburg and Soul Edge. On the other hand, it had taken him, at most a week and a half to get from "Stonehenge" to where he had met the woman and it might be handy to have a guide, provided of course that he could convince her to fill that capacity. Illogical was fully in favor of chasing her down due to his personal dislike of killing women, and if he left her out in the Golden Hills he might as well have shoved a blade through her stomach himself. Illogical said it had been at least a month since he had plundered the riches of the Golden Hills and the dwarves probably had opened up a few new veins of gold since he had last been there. And as the final point from his illogical mind, it had been a while since he had taken his minions out on a rampage. No doubt they were catching a case of cabin fever and, honestly, he missed their little hilarious war cries.

He slowly stood, using the point of his arcanium blade as extra leverage. He was a little amazed with himself, here he was, the Overlord of all Evil, and he was going out to rescue a damsel in distress like an rookie hero, this time on purpose. Fate, if it existed, certainly had a sense of humor.

Gnarl followed him down the stairs, again seeming able to read his mind. "As you wish Sire. I hope this wench is worth the amount of time she seems to be taking up." The old minion stayed quiet until he was involved with selecting his destination. "Remember Sire, the dwarves like anything that fires, burns, or explodes. And especially all three at once!"

He ignored the redundant reminder and stepped into the Portal.

Golden Hills: Mountain Pass

The Overlord barely paused to survey the scenery, only noting that not the slightest bit had changed since he had last been here. Granted, not much could change in a few months, but the least they could do was get the sheep away from the Tower Gate like someone that could think.

As hard as it was to pull his musing mind away from the many common sense failings of the dwarves, he had his own matters to attend to. Now, from long practice there was one surefire way to find anything out of place in the Golden Hills, follow the line of angry dwarves. If there was so much as a rabbit that the dwarves hadn't given nesting permission to they would be out in force and storming towards the disturbance as fast as their stumpy legs could carry them. Just from where he was standing, barely out of the Tower Gate, he could see a gaggle of dwarves making a beeline for the entrance to the Glittering Mines. If his wayward guest happened to be in there, then it was rather fortunate for him. He could save a lot of time by only making one trip.

One thing concerned him though, all of the dwarves he had seen were warriors, huge dwarves armed with big axes and a lot of durium armor. Things might be a bit tougher than usual if the dwarves had taken a step back from ornamentation and focused on weapons. It would have been the first smart thing he had seen from the dwarves in his entire lifetime, but the possibility was there. Plus, the woman he was chasing down was good, but wouldn't last long against a mob of dwarf warriors.

From the Minion Gates surrounding him he pulled twenty five Browns, five Blues, ten Greens, and ten Reds. So long as he kept to his high standards of tactics and cunning he shouldn't have to replenish his supply from now until he walked out of here with the girl thrown over his shoulder. He paused to think about the mental image he had conjured up, and amended it to him walking out with her walking next to him. It would be much better if she wasn't that seriously injured.

Glittering Mines:

Sophitia pressed her back against one of the wooden support posts on the wall of the mine, breath coming hard and heavy. If it wasn't one thing in this mine trying to kill her something else was always lining up to take the next shot. After emerging from the portal nothing had happened at first. The tranquil scenery had almost put her at ease; if not for the knowledge that her former host could very easily follow her she would have taken the time to enjoy the view. The small field of grazing sheep had been oddly soothing just to look at. That same field of sheep had almost gotten her killed. While she had been watching the oblivious balls of wool grazing a flaming arrow had nicked her right arm, only an inch closer to center and she wouldn't be able to use that limb right now. Following the arrow had been a torrent of nonsensical shouts in some language that made the speaker sound completely drunk. Of course that could just have been because that particular individual was drunk. She had a hard time believing that every single thing chasing her was intoxicated.

When push came to shove she had tried fighting, but the walking beards with arms possessed impossibly tough flesh. In the first encounter she had only killed one of them by stabbing it in the eye. That death had quickly earned her a counterattack that had clipped her on the lower leg with a stupidly heavy pickaxe. Something was broken and she knew it, but right now she was too hyped up on adrenaline to feel the injury. She would worry about the extra damage she was doing to it if she lived long enough to suffer the consequences.

Something nearby made a very loud squishing sound, and by now she automatically assumed anything new was something that was going to attempt to kill her. When she turned her head towards the noise, she had to fight back the urge cry out in disgust. Something big, green, and with a pair of eyes on stalks was oozing its way up the passage to her. The only word she could use to categorize it was 'slug,' but the sheer difference in size compared to the ones she had grown up seeing in gardens and out in the wilderness was mind boggling. Hopefully though, her sword would fare better against this thing than it did against the walking beards.

The slug was a simple animal; as such there was no attempt at anything clever. The slug slid right up to her and reared up like it was going to just try and envelop her on the spot. She had other ideas, and darted back a step, ready to stab or slash the instant the creature fell back to the ground. However, the slug did not immediately fall back to the ground, rather, a small slit on the underside of the slug gaped wide and a stream of viscous slime spewed out at her with surprising precision. Shock made her block the flying slime with her shield instead of dodging, which turned out to be a very bad idea. The slime splattered across the metal surface and drops of it pattered across both her arms and legs, burning everywhere it touched. Flying on wings of pain, she stabbed the slimy body responsible so many times she lost count. When she was done, all that was left was a little puddle on the floor of the mine.

Now that she wasn't in any immediate danger fatigue hit her in the chest like a full grown bull. It was a strain just to get back to her feet and start moving again. She could only hope that there was an exit to the mine in the way she was walking, because from the chorus of bellowing behind her she sure wasn't going to get back out the way she came in. Ironically, her best hope of survival was also one she wasn't sure she wanted. If her former captor valued her enough he just might give chase, but if he did then she'd end up right back where she started. Only this time the knight would probably throw her in chains to make sure she stayed. Fate, it seemed, had grown sour towards her just for trying to protect her child, even though that plan had collapsed upon her.

She arrived at a three way intersection and was momentarily unsure of which way to turn. The choice however, was taken out of her hands by the appearance of three giant versions of the slug she had just killed at the far end of one of the branches. With giant slugs in front, and angry beards behind, she ran to the side. That run soon proved to be very short, as the passage came to a complete dead end. The only thing worthy of note was a raised ledge with a sheltered alcove. If she could get up there, then she might just survive for a while. Any long term survival was still in the hands of the knight, but she was doing what she could. She momentarily thought of uttering a prayer to the gods, but abandoned the idea. They weren't going to help her and they had already proven that.

The Overlord descended into the mine and, contrary to his earlier concerns, this trek was actually proving to be easier than most of his prior excursions. If he wanted to voice a reason, he could blame it on every dwarf having their back to him as he just carved through every passage like he owned the place. Most of the dwarves never even got the chance to utter a last, panicked cry before they were dead. The few times that he did get caught he just threw a Betrayal spell into the group and kept walking, taking pleasure in the sounds of dwarves cutting each other apart because he willed it so.

In time, he came to an intersection and was presented with a choice. Down one path was an empty corridor, bereft of all life. The other led to a dead end with three giant slugs surrounded by dwarf corpses. He had always despised those things, the corrosive slime, and the acidic blood. The only positive memory he had involving anything green and slimy was one time long ago when he had been fighting through the arcanium mine to extract the smelter of the same name. A massive mother slug had oozed out of a cavern directly in his way. That incident in and of itself was just another inevitable obstacle on his path to power, the delightful memory came from what how Velvet had reacted upon seeing the same thing.

He remembered Velvet's reaction perfectly. "Eww, is that what's spawning all of those little things? Ugh, I can't stand it. Hit it! Hit it until it stops!"

Thinking of Velvet still made him feel depressed almost six months to the day after the crane incident. It also made him feel stupid for not seeing the inevitable betrayal coming. As always, he found solace in the memory of strangling the culprit with his bare hands and slowly watching the life leave their eyes. He vaguely remembered using the lifeforce he had taken from them to summon a Brown that he had sent to its death by carrying a bomb.

He was about to choose the empty passage for the purpose of saving time, but as he started to look away his eyes slid over a sight that drew his attention faster than gold did to a dwarf. Up on the wall, over the lip of a slight alcove, he saw the tail end of a long, blond braid. Reacting quickly, he practically threw the Greens onto the back of one of the giant slugs, and the Browns to the one on the opposite side. He set the Reds just inside the room so they had a clear shot, and physically placed himself between the Reds and the slugs. The twenty five Browns made short, if messy, work of their slug. So he posted them in front of the Reds and personally strode forth against the only slug occupied only by the fire barrage from the Reds. In two quick swipes he removed all three of the eye stalks and drew his focus to the body. By now the Greens were finished with their slug so he directed them up onto the back of his slug. In a flurry of back-stabs, the last slug died. Just one more tactical victory under his belt.

As the Blues ran about reviving his fallen Minions he stopped to wonder, how exactly had the woman climbed up to where she was? A quick glance at the ground and back at the wall told him all he needed to know. A small ledge had given her a boost before breaking off of the wall to lie in a heap on the ground. The question still remained of how he was going to get his charge down without doing any more damage than was already sure to be there. An intermediate idea hit him and he gestured over one of the Blues before directing the healing minion to balance on the handle of his sword. Holding his blade by the tip he carefully lifted the minion up to the ledge and let the Blue off. A few moments passed before the Blue reappeared with the wrist of the woman in one hand, the other pointing down encouragingly. Next to the Blue, the woman's face appeared, betraying a mix of emotions like relief, caution, and finally resignation. On the oft chance that he might set her mind at some semblance of ease, he gave the woman a short wave before gesturing down.

The wave seemed to throw her for a moment, then she asked the obvious question in response to his gesture. "You want me to jump? From here?"

He could admit to himself that he was staring to get annoyed by the distrust, but to humor the woman he glanced around on the extremely low possibility that he had missed something. Finding nothing, as expected, he looked back up at the woman, and opened his mouth...

Sophitia had mixed feeling towards her rescuer, as she knew she would. Relief that she would live, but dread that she might be living only as a prisoner. Then the knight shot her a little wave. The simple gesture surprised her, a friendly, almost childishly so, act that again made her doubt the motives of the knight. The following point towards the ground was much easier to read, but the height of the ledge she was on, plus her injured leg, made her leery of the offer.

She felt stupid asking the question, but felt obligated to. "You want me to jump? From here?"

There was just the slightest narrowing of the knight's golden eyes, but to his credit the man did look around once more before meeting her gaze again. "**Yes, but if you see any other way then please, share it.**"

She felt her eyes widen. This was the very first time she had heard the knight speak and she was quite unprepared for it, especially for the amount of sheer, overwhelming power of such simple words. There was no comparison that she could use that even came close. Even the voice of the Smith God all those years ago was nowhere near close. The voice itself told her a story, that the one who spoke it was a born for a purpose, not only possessing the power to rule, but entitled to it. She felt as if she was listening to the voice of a God amongst gods, such was her awe.

The same voice shocked her out of her reverie, now tinged with the slightest hint of annoyance. "**Would it make you feel better if I said I was planning on catching you?**"

It took a moment, but she recovered enough presence of mind to respond. "It, yes I think it would."

The king, and she could only feel foolish for constantly referring to him as only a knight, sheathed his flaming sword and planted his feet solidly on the stone. Such a stance gave her the distinct impression that nothing short of an apocalypse could dislodge him. Not speaking again, only gesturing to her with a simple 'come hither' finger twitch.

She slid herself to the edge of the ledge, worst case scenarios running through her head despite the absolute surety of the king's stance. The last fleeting thought was that he was just pulling a fast one on her and was going to step out of the way at the last second. Ultimately she decided to put her trust in the king, and she pushed herself off of the edge towards the open arms below. There were a few fearful seconds of free fall, then the unyielding embrace of metal shrouded arms. His direct touch was, different, tingly. She would never say that it was a bad feeling, but neither was she willing to say that it was entirely a good feeling. It was more like something she should feel guilty of, but wasn't capable of feeling the guilt.

She found herself gazing into his eyes, although gazing probably wasn't the right word. She was enthralled, enraptured, bewitched, all of those words said it but none quite strongly enough. There was heat, and she retained enough presence of mind to know that quite a bit of that heat originated from the old wounds she had received from the shattering Soul Edge. She knew that the Evil Sword had left its mark in her flesh, was it possible that the leftover evil was twisting her perception of events to show this king as a better man than he was? No, if he wanted her as a slave then he would never have released her from whatever spell he had cast upon her in that clearing in Wolfkrone. Even if that weren't true, how did residual evil explain the heat emanating from the center of her chest? She hadn't felt this feeling in over a year, and over the course of that year she had felt like ending her own life numerous times under the triumvirate of burdens; grief, loneliness, and guilt. Would it truly be so horrible of her if she found solace in the arms of someone who had shown her nothing but kindness, regardless of their alignment?

The voice of the king broke the trance. "**Can you walk?**"

She tried to move the broken limb and forced down a cry of pain. "I doubt it. I think something was broken."

A short nod of affirmation preceded the pitter patter of little feet as three of the blue goblins scampered and immediately started waving their webbed hands around in the air and chanting some bizarre guttural incantation. So far as she could tell the king had given no verbal command, and not even a finger of his had twitched to bring the goblins over.

She voiced her thoughts. "How did you do that? Bring the blue things over I mean."

The king responded almost instantaneously, as if he had explained this to others many times. "**The Minions all follow my direct mental commands, so I need not speak or do anything else to telegraph my intentions. I also command the Wraiths in the same manner.**" Before she could ask the follow-up question he answered in like he read her mind. "**The spirits of the Evil dead given physical form. You have not seen them yet.**"

A crackling sound filled the air and as she watched the numerous cuts and abrasions covering all of her limbs closed, almost giving her the flawless skin that a royal worked to maintain. Feeling the need to show her thanks, she gingerly scratched one of the blue Minions behind its left ear. The Minion was practically purring with pleasure, and she was oddly reminded of a small child being congratulated for something completely innocuous.

As the king hauled her to her feet she asked one more question. "How intelligent are these Minions?"

The king let out one booming laugh that seemed to echo only inside of her head. "**On a scale of one to ten, with ten being brilliant, I would give most of them a negative two. The Blues would get a positive two.**"

Dark Tower: Spawning Pits

Gnarl listened intently to the conversation, if one could call it that, between the wench and The Overlord. The Master had barely even opened his mouth since the crane incident and the loss of Mistress Velvet, not that he was the only one who missed that delicious looking girl. Depraved musings aside, Evil deeds just were not feasible when the Dark Lord was depressed. And whether the Lord admitted it or not, or if he even noticed the difference, The Most Wise Master was off of his game. He had done his absolute best to keep The Overlord's spirits up, but by now he recognized that the specific kind of spirit required was a woman's touch, perhaps in both definitions of the phrase.

With a last glance to make sure both The Overlord and the girl were on their way he turned away from the Tower Heart and began to make his slow way up towards the Throne Room. He paused only briefly when he heard the name of the female cross the ether from The Overlord's helmet to the Tower Heart, and out to his ears. The name Sophitia didn't exactly shout "Evil mistress," but neither had Velvet, or especially Rose, but you had to work with what fell into your lap. He arrived in the Throne Room just as The Overlord led the woman out of the Portal, followed closely by a veritable train of Minions carrying heavily loaded mine carts full of gold chunks as big as half of him.

Quaver got busy announcing the return of The Overlord, "Salutations!" Then the jester began with the long list of titles. "Great and Mighty Overlord! Grinder of Goldo and Ravager of Rollie! Desecrator of the Sacred Grove! Warrior of the High Seas!" Ok, that last one was new.

He interrupted the Jester; "Welcome back Sire, and the lady as well."

Something in his voice must have tipped The Master off that something was up, because The Overlord's back stiffened and the golden eyes zeroed in on him like a hawk stooping at a pigeon. To be honest with himself, he had no idea if his plan was going to work or not, but it was worth trying.

He attempted to ignore the glare that the Dark Lord was shooting him, a feat that was only slightly easier than trying to light a campfire underwater. "Since you and the lady seem to be getting on so well, I thought it prudent to suggest a more permanent arrangement if you are both willing. And Sire, I must remind you that it has been quite some time since the Tower had a resident Mistress."

His Supreme Dark Majesty turned his head towards Sophitia. "**This is your choice. I've never forced a woman to stay here, and I'm not about to start now.**"

It must truly been a daunting prospect, because the woman looked absolutely shocked. "You, you mean live here? With you?" The Overlord nodded once before she continued. "I…"

Sophitia trailed off as a Brown started hugging her leg. "Pretty lady please stay? Please?"

There was a moment where the blond looked a little bit scared, but then she looked back up at The Overlord. "I, think I would like that." Then her eyes went wide and she hurriedly added; "Ah, at least for now!"

The Lord of Lust and Lechery held out his arm, and started to lead Sophitia towards the Private Quarters, beckoning to two of the serving girls from Spree mid-way through the trip. His mind might have conjured up a sequence of a demented four-way, but the Dark Lord had never shown the slightest bit of interest in any of the serving wenches beyond keeping them in good health. Regardless, it seemed The Overlord was still able to charm women with his mere physical presence. Corruption was a beautiful thing.

Wolfkrone Border:

Ivy Valentine fought down the urge to whip out her sword, quite literally, and behead the man in front of her. Here she was, almost within reach of destroying the Cursed Sword, and the only thing keeping her from moving forward was quite possibly the stupidest Wolfkrone soldier in the entire world.

The soldier repeated the line he had been using for the last hour, or so it seemed. "I'm sorry miss, but by order of the queen no one is going in or coming out of the kingdom."

With a quick thought, she summoned some tears to her eyes and added a slight quiver to her voice. "But, you don't understand. My father is dying, that's why I have to get home!"

The soldier hesitated; "Well, I…"

She pulled out all the stops, and was seriously thinking that it had been a very good idea to wear a cloak over her usual attire. "I'm begging you. I don't have much time left!"

Her act finally broke through Stupid. "Alright, I suppose one homesick girl can't hurt anything. Go on-"

A loud, pompous voice cut the soldier off. "Private, I hope I was not hearing the sound of you about to let that woman through."

The soldier tried to defend his actions, poorly. "But captain, this girl needs to get home to her dying father."

The captain quickly responded with harsh words, both for the soldier and her. "I find it hard to believe that you made it through selection, maggot. This 'girl' isn't going home to her dying father. Besides, even if she does live in the kingdom, her father would be long in the grave by now."

The insinuation that the captain was making was quite obvious, and it pissed her off. She suddenly thought that it had been quite stupid of her to bother negotiating as long as she had. With a cry of anger she released the clasp on her cloak and drew her blade.

The soldier she had been dealing with went wide-eyed and called out; "Weapon!"

She resisted the urge to make a snide comment, and content herself with wrapping her blade around his neck before severing the head from the body. Four quick lashes later she was free to proceed through the remains. From now on she decided there was going to be no more subtlety; anyone that got in her way would die. End of story.


	4. Settling In

Chapter 4: Settling In

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Sophitia slowly followed her guide, The Overlord, while trying to ignore the mischievous giggling from the two servant girls that were following her. She was having a hard time processing what had just happened, what she had just willingly done. She had just accepted the offer to become the mistress of the Lord of Evil. Not wife, but Mistress. She wasn't quite sure she liked the terminology, the implication that she wasn't much more than a toy. The instant she had a moment alone with The Overlord, away from any prying ears, she planned on having a serious talk with him as to the specifics of what she had just done.

The sound of a door opening drew her attention. Just ahead, The Overlord was holding a door open for her, beckoning with a crooked finger. Suitably curious, she entered the room and was met by the single most lavish setting she had seen in her lifetime. Large stained-glass windows let multi-colored light fall across the entire room, the single most prominent color being a soothing hue of crimson. Just below the windows, a bed that was large enough to comfortably inter five people in sheets the color of the purest clouds. Around the bed, a set of privacy curtains that seemed just a step below completely opaque, somehow managing to seem elegant and, dare she think it, erotic at the same time. On the opposite wall, there was a large table that was set perfectly for tea, as if two people had just vanished in the middle of the first cup. And over everything else, the enchanting aroma of flowers, roses in particular. It was like the chambers of some fairytale princess brought to sudden, vivid life. She pinched herself on the arm just to make sure this wasn't some kind of dream.

Just as she was about to whirl around and express just how blown away she felt, the door softly shut and left her with her mouth hanging open, bringing a stunned question out of her instead of words of praise. "Where exactly is he going?"

One of the serving girls, a young looking girl with a relatively plain face and short, curly brown hair, stepped forward. "The Overlord had to go downstairs for a minuet or two. Gnarl said he had something he wanted to discuss with The Master." The girl looked up at the ceiling and muttered out loud. "I swear by my granny's knickers, that Minion always wants to talk to The Master at the oddest of times."

The other girl, a blond that looked a bit older and a little bit more on the side of pretty, stepped behind the brunette and tapped the younger girl on the head. "Sarah, stop mumbling and go get one of those little Red things."

'Sarah' clutched the top of her head like the tap had actually hurt, "But Heather!"

'Heather' set her hands on her hips; "No buts, hurry up! And don't forget the gloves, don't want to burn yourself." When Sarah was out of the room Heather turned to her. "Sorry about that Milady, her father spoiled her." The other blond answered the question before she could ask it; "The Master asked us to help you get cleaned up while he was discussing whatever it is Gnarl wanted discussed. He'll be right back up afterwards so you can talk…" Heather smiled and a tone of mischief entered her voice; "…or do whatever."

The innuendo was so thick she could have cut it with a knife; if she wasn't so busy trying to suppress a blush as the lewd comment caused an image of the 'act' to flash through her head. "I think that talking will do just fine."

Heather apparently saw the blush, because the smile stayed right where it was. "If you say so Milady." Sarah burst back in with one of the Red Minions clasped between two large mittens. Heather pointed towards the far corner of the room to a large basin that looked to be made out of copper, or bronze. "Drop the little flamer into the coal box under the tub."

Deciding to take the controlled mayhem in stride she started to walk toward the bath while working to peel off her slime encrusted outfit. "Where exactly did The Overlord get all of this? He didn't exactly strike me as the 'flowers and sunshine' type of person."

Sarah took her cloths while Heather gave her a hand up and over the lip of the basin; "Oh, all of this? No, The Overlord didn't pick up any of this stuff on his own. It all used to belong to former Mistress Rose."

She took an educated guess as to the addition of 'former' "I take it they didn't get along very well."

Heather handed her a large brush. "Bloody right they didn't get along. Mistress Rose was always yelling at The Master for one thing or another. I swear the lady was bloody crazy. She'd be looking at you one second, sipping tea like she was made out of ice. And before you'd know it she'd start hollering at the top of her lungs like her hair was on fire. The Master didn't invite her here either; she just sort of barged in."

She found herself laughing at the thought of The Overlord getting yelled at. "I can see how that wouldn't have lasted very long. I assume he kicked her out?"

Heather started giggling, "Oh, The Master did more than just kick Mistress Rose out. He invited her sister, Mistress Velvet, to take the position." The giggling intensified, "In more ways than one."

She was starting to get used to the dirty comments, so this last one didn't bother her as much. "Dumping a woman for her sister, that would never go over well."

Seeming to stay on topic, Heather asked the next question. "Do you have a sister Milady?"

The implication, and joke, was not lost on her. "I do, if she's still alive somewhere. But before you get any funny ideas, she and I look almost exactly alike. Given the same outfit and hairstyle and it would be very difficult to tell us apart."

Heather's hands fell onto her shoulders. "And, is your sister as well developed as you, Milady?"

She whirled around in the bath to face the serving girl. "Isn't that question just a bit too personal?" When there was no response, only a patronizing smirk, she relented, "No."

In the background, seemingly oblivious to the conversation that had just been going on, Sarah called out to her. "Milady, I just thought I'd mention that this outfit of yours is absolutely beautiful!"

Grateful for the change in topic she happily responded. "Thank you Sarah, that's very kind of you to say."

The brunette held the clean outfit up in the light, and gasped. "Oh! I just had the greatest idea ever!" Sarah looked over at her; "Don't you think this would look just lovely in a shade of red? It'd show off those beautiful eyes of yours!"

The image flashed through her head. "Well, I suppose it would. But-"

Sarah squealed with delight, completely ignoring her. "Oh I've got to go get my dyes." She then sprinted out of the room, taking her clothes along for the ride.

Heather let out a long sigh, rubbing her forehead with exasperation. "Damn girl, one of these days…" Then the serving girl looked over at a large wardrobe on the wall. "Don't worry Milady; I'm sure we can find something else that'll fit you before…" A low, heavy, metallic thump off in the distance signaled the start of a countdown until The Overlord arrived.

Dark Tower: Stairs to Private Quarters

The Overlord was taking his sweet time climbing the stairs, and trying to drive the stupid thoughts that Gnarl had brought up for the second time about Mistresses, nic nacs, and varying perverted thoughts. He could almost think that Gnarl had forgotten that he had had Velvet as his mistress for close to a year. He knew how to treat women, in all respects. Speaking of which, there was a woman upstairs that he was supposed to be getting back to. He did have to lead her on a tour around the rest of the Tower. With that in mind he increased his pace by about fifty percent.

As he neared his destination one of the serving girls, possibly Sarah, blew by him with a small bundle of cloth wrapped up in her arms. Could she possibly be trying something unorthodox to get the slug slime out? He knew that it was a huge pain to remove from any fabric; the black mantle around his shoulders a solemn testament to slime abuse. On that topic it really was about time for him to get a new one. Regardless, by now Sophitia would have probably picked out one of Rose's old dresses. Unless of course she was the kind of woman that took an eternity to decide on anything, but up to now he hadn't seen much proof towards that label.

He arrived at the door and knocked twice, without a response, verbal or otherwise. That could mean two things. One, Sophitia was still naked and he shouldn't go in quite yet. Two, she had suffered a paralyzing attack of conscience and had thrown herself out of a window in shame, in which case the remaining servant girl was terrified of what he might do. He shook his head and suppressed the urge to laugh, the things he could think up from time to time.

There was a pronounced rustling of fabric from beyond the door, followed by a tentative invitation. "Ok, you can come in now."

Taking the invitation, he turned the handle on the door and gave it a light shove, allowing momentum to finish the opening process for him. When he did fully enter the room he was forced to squint due to the light shining in from an open window. Before, the red hue had mitigated some of the more intense rays. Not that he was sensitive to bright light; it was just poor timing that the sun happened to be right outside these windows at this particular hour. Following his non-verbal cue, the servant girl still present drew the curtains closed and shut off a good majority of the glare. He nodded to show his thanks before turning his attention towards his new Mistress.

Somehow, out of all the clothing in the room, Sophitia had managed to find Rose's single favorite dress. Cloth the color of fresh cream for the majority of the fabric, offset by deep red for the torso with gold embroidery running through the entire piece. As for the fit, he was forced to grind his teeth together in order to keep from laughing. From the waist down everything looked perfectly fine, with the sole exception of the hem rising above her ankles. That was solely due to Sophitia being a bit taller than Rose, nothing to be done about that. Above the waist was where his mirth threatened to get the better of him. There was no other way he could put it, the dress was just too small, especially in the area of the bodice. If he wanted to give his metaphorical mind a stretch he could say that he could almost hear the fabric crying out in agony.

Sophitia apparently read too far into his analytical gaze. "It looks stupid, doesn't it?"

Before giving any kind of answer he pointed at the serving girl, that he now recognized as Heather, before jabbing his thumb in the direction of the door. If there were a more obvious 'get out' signal he didn't know it.

Once Heather was gone he walked over and flicked a stray strand of hair out of Sophitia's face before answering. "**The fit could be better. But otherwise, no, it doesn't look stupid at all.**"

Before the blond could respond the door burst open and, out of reflex, he had his sword out and pointed directly at the intruder. Sarah was being completely oblivious as usual.

Sarah unrolled a bundle of vibrant red fabric in her arms and looked up. "Milady, just like I said I would…" She trailed off the instant his eyes met hers, before beating a hasty retreat at a slight shooing motion from his left hand. Sophitia picked up the fabric Sarah left behind, and he recognized it as the outfit she had been wearing when she arrived, with the notable differences of being clean and dyed brilliant red.

The blond commented on the color, but it was more of a thought than something that should be responded to. "I will admit; I do like this particular shade. But she could have at least given me some warning before barging off with the only thing I know will fit." Sophitia turned around to him, holding the clean outfit against her. "I'm sorry, but could you turn around for just a moment? This is still just a little bit awkward to me, so…"

He simply shrugged and turned around towards the window, preoccupying himself with studying the intricate patterns of the flowers in the glass. Moments later he heard the rustle of fabric fluttering down through the air. He felt no compulsion to turn around against her wishes, unlike a certain paladin that he had executed; he had a tight rein on his carnal desires. Also, completely out of coincidence, there was a reflection in one of the blue glass panels of the window, so there was no need for him to turn around whatsoever.

Instead of giving him verbal permission to look, Sophitia walked over to him and set a hand on one of his shoulders, fingers splayed between the spikes that grew from the corrupted metal. "Look, can we talk? This Mistress thing, I'm not just going to wind up as one woman out of dozens am I?"

He shrugged, not seeing much of a point in being false. "**I can say this much, I have never had the, opportunity to have more than one Mistress. This Tower was mostly destroyed when I acquired it and the Minions only built one bedroom. Not to say that past Overlord's havn't done that. I recall the case of one of my predecessors keeping at least twelve Mistresses.**"

Sophitia's face betrayed just the slightest tinge of alarm. "I don't suppose you know how they were treated?"

He shook his head in response. "**No, the records and journals that are left from that particular Overlord's reign are few and far between. All I know is that he didn't live long enough for that to matter. He was eaten by a giant weasel in the fourth month of his rule.**" There was a slight pause as he devised a suitable point to his explanation. "**I suppose all I can say is that I can't say what I would do if another woman finds her way to this Tower. I just don't think I would be the type to ignore anyone that I care about.**"

The alarm faded from Sophitia's face and she removed her hand from his shoulder, ignoring the black haze that clung to her flesh for a few moments afterwards. "I can accept that. It's something to hope for anyway." A slight smile touched her lips. "Now, you were going to show me around, right?"

With a slight nod, he opened the door and led his Mistress out with his hand resting in the small of her back.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Sophitia slowly followed The Overlord along the right side of the Throne Room. The longer she spent around him, the farther she fell, and the farther she fell, the more time she wanted to spend with him. Most people would call that a vicious cycle, but it didn't feel particularly vicious from where she was standing. She knew in some corner of her mind that no sane person fell for anyone this quickly, but for her at least, if she was actually going insane, it would be a release from a terrible existence rather than a condemnation. Who knows, her close contact with Soul Edge for so many years might just have unhinged her mind. While lost in thought, she almost ran into the back of her guide. The Overlord had stopped by a set of stairs leading down, guarded by a Brown minion holding a large axe that gave off the impression of an executioner.

Just when The Overlord seemed about to say something a voice she was quite familiar with by now cried out from the stairs. "Master, your bedchamber is on fire!" Sarah came running into view. "I was cleaning, just like I should have been, and that big head you have hung on your wall scared the bloody daylights out of me. I knocked over one of your candlesticks with the broom. Please forgive me Master!"

She found herself wondering just how many times Sarah had asked The Overlord for forgiveness and how many more would be tolerated. She got the distinct feeling that she already knew the answer, and she admired the amount of self-control it took for The Overlord to overlook as many blunders that she suspected Sarah was responsible for.

She gave The Overlord a nudge towards the stairs. "Go on, I'll get Gnarl to show me around. I don't expect you to let your room burn down while giving me a tour."

The Overlord nodded once to her, then sprinted off directly away from the Private Quarters, down a set of stairs, and appeared only moments later leading a squad of ten Reds up the stairs to the Private Quarters at breakneck speed. A slight smile crossed her face, and she beckoned to Gnarl with a newfound sense of authority.

The old Minion trundled across the distance between them as fast as his short legs could carry him. "Yes Mistress? You have something you would ask of me?"

She didn't exactly like the tone Gnarl was using, it was the kind of lecherous noise that made her feel like she was about to get raped out of nowhere. Regardless, Gnarl would know the Tower as well, if not better than The Overlord. "You are going to show me around in lieu of The Overlord…" She pointed down the stairs behind the executioner Minion; "…Starting down there."

A huge grin spread across Gnarl's face. "Excellent Mistress, the Dungeon is always a good place to start. I'm sure you'll find The Master's collection of victims quite enjoyable."

Already leery of the area due to Gnarl's apparent enthusiasm, she followed the old Minion down the stairs. With every step she took the air grew progressively colder. By the time she could see the bottom she could also see her breath misting the air in front of her. The only light to see by was coming from a few scattered torches, very dim torches. All she could immediately see was a large, circular room with a spike filled pit in the middle. There were glowing craters, one in each corner of the room, and a smaller set of stairs that led to a large, open, sand-filled area that could only be described as an arena.

Gnarl made a wide, sweeping gesture. "Here, all of the creatures and beings that The Overlord has slain are collected. The Tower can create them at will for him to fight, and smite, at his leisure. So far as I can recall, there is not a challenge presented by the Tower that our Lord has not dominated, with or without his Minions." Gnarl turned his gaze back towards her and his eyes acquired a curious gleam. "Come to think of it Mistress, you seem able to handle yourself rather well. You could try out the arena yourself anytime you like."

She was tempted by the offer to prove that she was more than just a girl that needed rescuing, but she highly doubted that the Dungeon would up and leave the Tower so she had all the time in the world for that. "I think I'll pass for now, and I really don't think I need to see any more of this Dungeon until then."

Gnarl looked rather disappointed, and it gave her the sense that she was in control of events for the first time in a long while; "Of course Mistress, as you wish." Gnarl made a 'follow me' gesture and started back up the stairs. "To the Spawning Pits and the Tower Heart. You'll like this one, I think."

Dark Tower: Throne Room

The Overlord took the stairs one at a time, trying to focus on that instead of Sarah so he could avoid punching something, or someone. He was extremely lenient with the servants, but that did not mean he didn't get angry, far from it in fact. Most of them were fine, occasionally forgetting to do something that in no way resulted in a disaster. Sarah on the other hand, was a walking catastrophe. This was mitigated by the knowledge that she never meant for anything to go wrong. Sarah was either just clumsy, like what had just happened with his room, or dense, like the time one of the other servants had told her to try washing the Greens. That incident had almost made him crack up, until he found out that Sarah had almost drowned the Green Hive in an attempt to clean all of them at once. That time he had strung Sarah up by her ankles for a while, until the crying had gotten to him and he let her down. Sometimes he really cursed himself for having the soft spot he did for crying girls, women in peril, and other such heroic stereotypes. It really made it hard for him to keep up his image as an Evil Overlord. Granted he usually made up for it with events of mass slaughter, like Southampton, but little things like his repeated tolerance of Sarah's incompetence got on his nerves. He supposed that, in the big picture, it was good to have a little bit of balance to make sure that his subjects trusted him, but he would rather that his acts of mercy be fully choice based rather than something he did because he couldn't help it.

He arrived in the Throne Room and one of the other servants, another blond and one of his more infamous hirelings, Harriett, walked up to him. "You looking for your Mistress, Sire? Gnarl led her down to the Spawning Pit about five minutes ago."

With a brief nod of thanks he began to move off towards the Spawning Pits. By now Gnarl should have shown Sophitia at least the Dungeon, granted that there really wasn't much to see down there, so when he took over all that was left would be the Forge. There wasn't much to see there either, but that was the entirety of the Dark Tower. Barring the expansions that the Minions had made to the Private Quarters, but those were nothing but empty rooms as of now. Come to think of it, hadn't those expansions been Gnarl's idea in the first place? Regardless, he had never actively searched for a Mistress and wasn't going to start collecting when he already had one. Even though he was called the "Lord of Lust and Lechery."

As he descended the stairs he could hear Gnarl explaining the function of the Tower Heart to Sophitia off in the distance. "This, Mistress, is the Tower Heart, the source of the Tower's power and an almost limitless supply of Evil magic. It also allows our Lord to access the Tower's full resources no matter where he may be." There was a slight pause before Gnarl said something else. "If you are curious, you may touch it if you wish."

He froze mid-stride. Sure his Minions touched the Tower Heart all the time due to their stupidity and fascination with shiny objects. But they were almost as much a product of the Tower Heart as his magic was. Even he had never bothered to physically touch the Tower Heart, as something about the idea just rubbed him the wrong way. The only other time he knew of that something had actually touched the burnished sphere of glass was when Velvet had hit it with a giant rock to free him from the control of the Old Overlord, and even then she had never personally touched it. A nameless concern awoke somewhere within him and he quickened his pace towards the bottom. He arrived perhaps seconds too late to forestall the event, but nothing was immediately happening.

Sophitia turned to look at him, leaving her right hand connected to the floating orb by the tips of all five of her fingers. "There you are, I was wondering when you-"

A storm of blue lightning erupted from the Tower Heart and enveloped Sophitia in a cocoon of brilliance. The raw power of the Tower Heart forcing him to shield his eyes until the storm faded. When the blue light dimmed, Sophitia was still standing and staggering back slowly away from the pulsing orb of glass. He moved just in time to catch his Mistress by the shoulders as she fell backwards against him.

He cradled her head against his knee, and asked the single stupidest question that had ever issued from his mouth. "**Are you alright?**"

Sophitia still had arcs of raw energy jumping between her fingers, and across the surface of her eyes. "Honestly, I feel just a bit dizzy." A last bolt lanced out from the Tower Heart and struck Sophitia in the forehead, causing her entire body to convulse once before going back to a semblance of serenity. "It just occurred to me, that I have never heard your actual name. Putting aside all of the titles and honorifics, can you tell me?"

He responded with the one word, feeling far too much like he was granting a last request, "**Erasmus.**"

Sophitia smiled up at him, then closed her eyes and went completely limp. He knew that she wasn't dead, as he could still hear both her heartbeat and breathing. She was just unconscious in a rather conspicuous manner. After all, it wasn't every day that you saw an unconscious person with bolts of lightning twining around their body, making it convulse. Lacking any better options, he picked Sophitia up, bridal style, and started to head for the Private Quarters.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters: Two weeks later

Sophitia shot up with a jolt like she had been struck by lightning, which made some measure of sense because that was among the last things she remembered. It had seemed so innocuous, just touching the giant orb that provided all the Evil magic that The Overlord could ever need. It never even crossed her mind that the Tower Heart would react at all, let alone as violently as it did. The word pain came to mind, but that word did not accurately portray what she had felt. Just, sensation, no one specific feeling summed it all up. In a way, it reminded her of what she felt when touching, or being touched by The Overlord. That was when a memory came to her, just before her world had turned black. She had asked for The Overlord's real name, and he had given it to her, Erasmus.

Before she could start to think about anything more, with regards to The Overlord's real name, she heard a door open and a familiar gasp follow immediately afterwards. Sarah rushed into her field of vision and sat next to her on the bed, where she just realized she was. "Oh, Milady, it's so good to finally see you awake. We were starting to think you'd never get better."

Something about the pitch and tempo of Sarah's voice was giving her a headache. "Slow down, and explain to me what's going on. What do you mean you thought I would never get better?"

Sarah did start to explain, but at the same speed, exacerbating the already present headache. "After you touched the Tower Heart The Overlord brought you up here. That was two weeks ago."

Between her throbbing head and the influx of information she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around the unfolding events. "Two weeks? I've been unconscious that long?"

Sarah started to look uncomfortable. "There is that, and something else." The brunette shook her head. "I'm sorry Milady but it's not something I can explain. You're going to have to see it for yourself. The mirror is right over there."

The implication was that something about her had changed physically. But as her hands traced their way across her own body she could not find the slightest bit of difference. Left with no other recourse, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror. At first, it was as it was with her hands, and she could see no change, but as her eyes traveled up to the reflection of her face, no words that she could think of even came close to illustrating her state of mind. The irises of her eyes, formerly a deep, soothing blue, were now the angry red of fresh blood. The white part of her eyes, was no longer white, rather it was now a black so deep that not a single mote of light reflected off the surface. It was like the Tower Heart had plucked the eyes from her skull and replaced them with two orbs of raw Evil. For the first time in a long while, her infatuation with Erasmus was the last thing on her mind. Even though there was a soothing voice inside her head telling her that The Overlord would still approve, she wasn't listening to it.

Her fingers slowly drew up to her face, and lightly prodded the corners of each eye. Her reaction was completely normal, and it was slightly calming to reach the conclusion that the change was merely cosmetic. But, there was still symbolism in the change, and she knew it. Now, for better or worse, there was no going back to the life she had had before. She felt it in her very core that she carried almost as much Evil with her as Erasmus did. In a way, it was like being reborn. A dark, new life was awaiting her acceptance. It was funny in an odd way, she was still herself; the same morals, almost all the same convictions, the same mind. The only glaring difference was her side in the eternal struggle of Good vs. Evil. She was throwing her lot in with Evil, and this time it was by choice.


	5. The Serpent and The Wolf

Chapter 5: The Serpent and The Wolf

Wolfkrone Coast:

The Overlord jumped down off of his commandeered ship, for the second time. This time around however, he had stolen a quality vessel from the onset so it had cut down on travel time by a significant amount. He was still unable to get the Sophitia's unusual plight off of his mind. Even after three days straight she still hadn't awoken. That was when his work ethic, and Gnarl's nagging, had gotten the better of him and set him back on his way. Of course, after leaving strict orders to alert him the instant there was any change. Honestly though, he was of the mind that when Sophitia woke up, she'd be the one informing him of that fact.

As before, he torched the ship when he was off. There was no conceivable reason to do anything else. In the spirit of pre-planning though, he kept the Wraiths that had manned the ship as an escort. If he was going to get jumped again by an army, then he was going to leave in a much more dignified fashion. And by dignified, he meant taking down a lot more of the enemy before he turned tail to run. It was almost getting to the point where he was contemplating full-scale war to clear his way to Soul Edge, but he wasn't quite there yet. Granted that stealth wasn't his forte, but it was much less time-consuming. Considering how determined the soldiers had been however, he hand might eventually be forced. But that train of thought was not for the here and now.

Almost the instant he stepped off of the shore a buzz filled his helmet as someone fired up the Tower Heart to speak with him. "Erasmus? Can you hear me?"

The simple fact that the speaker was using his real name eliminated every conceivable possibility but one, and hearing the voice of that one possibility allowed him to release a breath he had been inwardly holding for two weeks. "**I can hear you, no need to shout.**"

Gnarl's voice joined in on the conversation. "Mistress, you could whisper into the Tower Heart and The Master would still hear-"

The sound of a blunt impact, followed by a stern reprimand from Sophitia, silenced the Minion Master. "Gnarl, go make yourself useful somewhere else."

The patter of little feet signaled Gnarl's retreat, along with the reedy voice. "Of course Mistress! No, please don't throw that at me!"

He laughed internally to himself while he imagined the scene playing out on the other end. This, to him, was one of the not so obvious perks of having a Mistress, getting to listen to Gnarl and her bickering in the Tower while he was out. It was almost like he was a playwright with actors, lines, a set, but no stage directions. The fun came from that very process of devising, in his mind's eye, what the actors on the figurative stage were doing. Like early on in his Evil career, when he met Velvet for the first time. Listening to Gnarl get chewed up, and then beat down by Rose had been worth his entire hoard of gold at the time. Hell, he'd pay half of his current hoard to watch the serving girls get to vent their grievances against the old Minion. That is of course, putting aside the fact that Gnarl would not survive such an encounter in one piece. Gnarl might be stupidly annoying almost all of the time, but he had his uses. No need to let Sophitia drive herself insane trying to keep the Minions in line around the Tower.

Speaking of his Mistress, she seemed to have dealt with Gnarl in whatever way she deemed fit. "Erasmus, are you still listening?"

The amount of hesitation in Sophitia's voice every time she spoke to him was absolutely adorable, but he would never say that out loud unless he was sure only she could hear it; "**Yes?**"

There was a pause, then Sophitia began. "Something, happened that you should know about before you get back."

He let out a long sigh, disaster scenarios running through his head. "**Did Sarah set something else on fire?**"

Sophitia sounded somewhat abashed. "What? Oh, no nothing like that. My fault for not being specific enough." There was another pause, this one laden with a sense of, dread? "The Tower Heart, did something to me, more than just knocking me out for two weeks, changed me."

He started walking again, ordering the Wraiths to do the same and warn him of anything that moved. "**I must assume then, that it is something significant enough for me to notice within seconds if you are this shaken up about it.**"

There was a moment as Sophitia seemed to be choosing her words, but she ended up blurting them out. "My eyes are black, and not the irises, those are red."

He called up an image of Sophitia in his mind and mentally substituted black and red eyes into the picture. Then he remembered to amend the color of her outfit to red as well. It was a radical shift from the original image, but far from an unpleasant one. The original version had given off a 'pure' vibe that was slightly shared by the update. The major difference was that the purity was offset by an 'in his face' showing of Corruption. It was paradoxical that anything, let alone a person, could be both corrupt and pure at the same time, but Sophitia was definitely pulling it off. He mentally approved of the look, and based upon the sudden restrictiveness of his codpiece, physically as well.

He put sound to his thoughts and aired them, well, most of them. "**If you were assuming that the eyes were going to put me off, they aren't. Black and red is a good color scheme for you.**"

The hesitation came into play, and a bit of disbelief. "You mean you approve? Truthfully?"

He had a sudden attack from his funny bone. "**If I didn't approve Gnarl would already have had you executed and thrown in the dungeon to feed the halflings.**" There was a pause and he literally could feel the dread emanating through the ether from his Mistress. "**That was a joke.**"

A slight laugh escaped from Sophitia. "Ah, right. I forgot for a moment who I was living with. I think I know you well enough by now to say that you wouldn't really do that." There was a pause, and she changed the subject. "So, I hope that nothing went particularly awry while I was unconscious."

He emerged from the forest on the same ledge as before, and picked out a much more gentle route down before responding matter-of-factly. "**Not at all, I just sacked the next town along the coast to get another boat, never even bothered to get the name, and killed all witnesses.**"

Sophitia was obviously a bit put off by the wanton description, but not enough to say anything apparently. "Then, I assume you are back in Wolfkrone?"

Obviously the 'back' meant he had been here before. That knowledge saved him from having to ask the painfully ignorant question of 'where's Wolfkrone.' "**I think it is safe to assume that. I did see the charred remains of my last vessel only a few paces up the coast from where I landed.**"

His Mistress appeared to have run out of things to say. "Well, is there anything you want to know about Wolfkrone?"

The list of useful things to know, troop count, distribution, training, armaments, and anything else related to the military of the domain would only be known to someone very high in the Wolfkrone chain of command. Judging from the simple fact that the soldiers had been chasing Sophitia when they first met meant that she was not one of the people privy to that information. Things available to the general populace, economics and agriculture, were things to consider after he had conquered the area. But Sophitia was trying to be helpful, and she'd probably feel rather bad if he just cut her off.

Out of consideration for his Mistress's feelings, he asked about the one fragment of knowledge that could be of potential use in the recent future. "**Just one thing for now, who rules the kingdom?**"

The relief that she had finally contributed something was evident in Sophitia's voice. "Queendom actually, Wolfkrone is ruled by Hildegard von Krone. A little more than a year ago she led an assault on the city of Ostrhinsburg with her armies while everyone else was fighting each other for Soul Edge. The resulting chaos prevented anyone from getting anything that they wanted." Her tone shifted bit, and he recognized a note of pain in the next few lines. "I took advantage of the confusion to escape back to my home. I had thought that the conflict might have weakened the Cursed Sword slightly, but the chaos only seemed to make it stronger. The connection it had with my, my..." A strong sob floated through the connection, carrying with it a sense of agony. "I'm sorry about this."

He checked his surroundings quickly before ordering the Wraiths to stop around him. "**Take your time, I'm listening.**"

Something halfway between a sob and a laugh reached his ears. "Thank you, I didn't think an Evil Overlord had it in him to be sensitive." Sophitia took a deep breath and continued from where she had left off. "My, daughter had been connected to the Evil Sword by one of its servants. The Evil energy turned her into an abomination that killed my son, and my husband."

He listened in silence, instinct telling him that this was not a time for words. The little story did answer a few questions he had been asking himself though, and he fully understood Sophitia's former desire to destroy Soul Edge. Revenge was always a powerful motivator. It also gave him a bit of insight as to where her voluptuous figure had come from, motherhood. Last, it was nice to know that he didn't have a virgin on his hands. He had read plenty of horror stories in the journals of previous Overlords about virgins, last count was at seventy-two, and he had no inclination to add to that total.

Sophitia coughed politely; "I think I'll let you focus on what you're doing. I'll just, think of something to do with myself while you're gone."

The sound of a few footsteps later and, for the first time he could remember in his Evil career, he was alone with his own thoughts. He took the opportunity to take stock, center himself...

Gnarl butted in; "Hello again Sire-"

In a fit of blind rage brought on by irritation he slammed the back of his helmet with the hilt of his sword. The resulting screech of shock and sound of retreat from the Minion Master was immensely satisfying, and calming. In his state of relative serenity he smelled something on the breeze, blood and death. It was a fresh scent to, so that meant that somewhere close by there was a battle happening. His muscles ached for combat, so he directed the Wraiths to fall in behind him before taking off at the highest speed he could manage while still being relatively quiet. After all, there was no call for him to run headlong into a battle against an entire legion and get himself killed. He wasn't going to charge in unless it was something he could handle.

Five minutes later:

The Overlord slowly approached the tree-line, his earlier enthusiasm undiminished but tempered by experience. From here he could see a very large basin beyond the trees with a small creek running down the middle, any other detail was obscured by the foliage. With a command for his Wraiths to stand their ground, he parted the bush in front of him with his hands. His earlier assessment was slightly off, the basin wasn't large, it was enormous. His Dark Tower could easily lay across the entire width of it twice with room to spare, and the entire field was covered with a lush carpet of verdant, green grass. It was the type of space that he expected to be used to graze livestock and judging by the remnants of fencing around the perimeter it might have originally been used for that. However, any livestock that might have been penned here were long gone.

In the place of livestock there looked to be slightly more than a platoon of soldiers surrounding a tall, cloaked figure that stood alone in the middle. As he watched, one of the soldiers attempted to impale the lone warrior upon a lance. In response, the warrior grabbed the lance just behind the tip and pulled the soldier on the other end in range for a quick decapitation. He found himself mentally applauding the move, as it was something he would have done. Honestly, just from the brief demonstration he was already itching to fight this person one on one.

He quickly surveyed the far edges of the basin to make reasonably sure that no ambush awaited. Once sure, he waved his escort of Wraiths ahead and watched them quickly cleave the soldiers to shreds before taking their places surrounding the lone figure. Of course he had ordered them to not attempt to attack, just contain, and as he left the cover of the trees he could tell by the way that the warrior looked at him from under the cowl that they understood this. It was quite refreshing that neither of them was going to waste time with words.

When he walked inside of the impromptu ring his Wraiths closed the circle, sealing both of them inside. Now that he was in close he took the opportunity to size up his opponent. He was moderately surprised to find that he was only a little bit taller than the warrior, but other than that single detail he was unable to ascertain anything else due to the flowing, shapeless cloak. That is of course, until he looked far enough down to see the ground that they were both standing on. He saw purple fabric, and high heeled shoes? A metallic sliding sound was all the warning he got before a bladed whip latched itself around his sword and attempted to rip it out of his hand, and if he hadn't already had a death grip on the arcanium weapon he would be standing there with nothing but his fists.

A tug-of -war quickly ensued, and he found himself with a strength advantage once again as he began to pull the cloaked woman towards him. Then his advantage vanished along with the whip section of his opponent's weapon. The little blade pieces that were left began to fly about, straining his eyes to the limit to keep track of all of them at once. Then he hit upon an idea and flicked on his basic Shield spell, hitting all of the bits at once with a brief mystical shock. When the pieces retreated to the woman he could smell a hint of magic, Evil magic. Such an application of the mystic arts was outside his realm of expertise, but now that he had the idea he was sure he could eventually put it into practice when he got the opportunity.

He took a cautious step towards the woman, blade up and ready to block or deflect another disarming attempt. An obvious fact to him by now was that he was facing someone with almost as much combat experience as him, probably more in the area of one on one combat, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve that he hadn't bothered to use yet. The cloaked woman drew her hand up to her shoulder and held her blade in a ready posture, and to a less experienced combatant that would have been all that there was to see. He however, noticed the free hand slowly working on the clasp to the cloak, and was ready when the woman threw the cloak at him to mask an attack. He countered by casting his Slow spell before swatting the cloak away with a contemptuous flick of his blade. Taking the present opportunity, he seized the handle of the woman's sword and yanked it out before placing a boot in her stomach and shoving them away.

He studied the stolen blade for a few moments, and imposed his will over the meager presence that gave the weapon its unique properties. Sure that the woman could not make the blade attack him while it remained in his hand he turned his eyes towards his defeated enemy, for the first time getting a clear look without the haze of battle blocking out any other analytical thought. What he saw made him pause, and would make lesser men start drooling. Under the cloak the silver-haired woman was wearing the single most insubstantial attire he had ever seen on anyone outside of a bedroom. And when he thought about it, Velvet had at times worn something more modest than this when she had come to bed with him. The sheer impracticality of the thing blocked out any other line of thought. Sophitia wore a revealing outfit to be sure, but from the flipping and spinning he had seen her do there was a practical reason for the floaty, gauzy chemise look-alike. Hell, he could have raked the claws on his command gauntlet across the silver-haired woman and eviscerated her on the spot. It struck him that the entire point of the woman's combat style had been to keep opponents away, but even if that plan worked perfectly one stray arrow could spell doom. He tossed the stolen blade back with a slight shake of his head and turned away, his former exhilaration fading away.

A furious shout came from behind him, tinged with the slightest bit of an accent that he could not place, which was no surprise at all. "That's it? You're just going to walk away like I'm nothing?"

He shot a slight glance over his shoulder. The woman was back on her feet, blade in hand, but was wisely not attacking. Clearly she was taking his act of mercy as an insult. Before he could finish the debate with himself as to whether or not he should respond, the choice was taken away from him as a whole hoard of horse-mounted soldiers poured out of the trees all around the basin. Within moments the entire place was surrounded and the horsemen began to tighten the circle. Without thinking about it, he backed into the center of his circle of Wraiths, standing back to back with the woman who, only moments before, was trying to kill him. It was almost amusing how the arrival of a common enemy could turn enemies into temporary allies, but the current situation was not one he would want in any circumstance. Theoretically he could just return to the Tower from right where he was. But that would leave the gate open behind him for at least ten minutes, and he refused to allow an entire army easy access to his home.

When the figurative noose tightened to the utmost, when there was a scant ten paces between the first horseman and the line of his Wraiths, a single figure dismounted from within the body of the army and started walking towards him. From here he could see armor of much higher quality than the rest of the soldiers, and he could smell just the slightest hint of enchantment. Nothing that would slow his blade down, but something that would grant minor protection from his magic. The sad part of that was he could not just incinerate the approaching figure on the spot. As they got closer he could make out a very stylized wolf motif on the helmet, and a red jerkin underneath the metal. A large lance was held in parade ground style while a short sword was held loosely at their side. When the stranger was three feet away from the closest Wraith they stopped, and he was surprised to find himself face to face, relatively, with another woman. It struck him that this might be the monarch of the kingdom, what had Sophitia said, Hildegard Von Krone?

The question was answered for him when the woman planted the back end of her lance in the ground and opened her mouth, releasing a pompous, self-righteous sound that just grated on his ears. "I am Queen Hildegard Von Krone." There was a pause that he was obviously supposed to fill with his own name, but he really didn't care to indulge in any trivialities with someone who was staring him down with thirty times his own troop count. "Speak creature, if you have any honor."

That was almost enough to piss him off to the point where he wanted to shoot back with something shocking and belittling. But he hadn't gotten to where he had by flying off the handle when someone was deliberately trying to antagonize him, so he let it slide and remained silent.

A sneer twisted the face of the Wolfkrone monarch. "Well, stay silent then," Hildegard seemed to look him up and down for a moment before starting to speak again. "So, you are the Titan of which my man spoke before he died. The one that supposedly throws fire from his hands and walks through the void." Hildegard shot a glance back at the army and at his Wraiths. "Any last words before my men destroy you and your-"

He finally lost his temper and cut the queen off, "**Enough.**"

Hildegard's eyes went wide and the lance she was holding went from parade ground ready to combat ready inside a second. He was pleased to see that the sudden onset of fear and shock was spread evenly across the entire Wolfkrone army. It was nice to see that his way with people was still unchanged regardless of what soil he stood upon.

He crossed his arms and assumed a threatening posture. "**Spare me the heroic prattle. If you have the stomach to attempt to harm me then do so. You waste my time and your own attempting to sound stronger than you really are.**"

Hildegard had nothing to say in response, but it was clear to him as she backed away from him that he had planted the seed of doubt, and fear, in her. How could he tell? The Queen's eyes remained locked with his own till she was well within her own ranks. Even then, when Hildegard was atop her steed, surrounded by thousands of her own soldiers, he could feel his gaze corroding the generous stores of resolve that lay within. To add insult to injury, he started to laugh, and that simple sound caused the entire line of horseman around the entire basin to back away at least five paces.

The woman with her back to his own hissed at him. "Nice speech, very dramatic. Now how about something practical, like an escape plan?"

As that was the obvious thing to do next he surveyed the enemy lines. All around him the lines of horses and men stretched back at least ten lines, all except to his right where the lines only went back by six. The ground under what horses there were was loose, and all rock. Such terrain was very unkind to the hooves of horses and might even cause them to stumble and fall. A single horse falling in a massive charge had the potential to cause a chain reaction that could stop the entire charge outright, and with the right persuasion he wouldn't even need to fight his way through those six lines of men.

He finalized the plan in his head, making sure to iron out all of the details before whispering to the woman behind him. "**When I move, you follow. And don't complain, do as I say or you will die.**"

The only response he received was an angry growl, but he felt reasonably sure the woman got the message. After all, what choice did she have? Follow him or get impaled and trampled by the horsemen. If she was smart she would take the first option.

Throwing more than three times the power into the spell, he cast Betrayal towards the six-man lines and started to run straight towards them. Just in case there were any stragglers among that crowd that his spell didn't overwhelm he had the single shield Wraith run in front of him. Behind him, he ordered the remaining Wraiths to make a stand against the charging horsemen. They wouldn't last very long against such numbers, but it would buy him time. Also, he could feel the presence of the silver-haired woman behind him. It would seem that whatever pride made her so furious at an act of simple mercy allowed for her to accept aid in the interest of self-preservation.

Also behind him, and slowly fading with every long stride he took, Hildegard's hysterical voice was screaming at her men. He could only hear a few scattered bits of the ranting, but it was mostly along the lines of, 'what the hell is going on?' Mixed in with a bit of, 'don't let the creature escape!' Regardless of whatever she was saying, he was getting significantly annoyed by this monarch, and the idea of total war was not very far from his mind. The idea was made even more attractive by the notion that he could theoretically have a home away from home from which to launch any further attempts to claim Soul Edge. But first things first, he had to stay alive long enough to plan anything war related.

He broke through the Wolfkrone lines and ordered the shield Wraith to do an about face and charge back through anyone in pursuit. This would buy him still more time and in all likelihood slaughter a large number of the onrushing soldiers, possibly Hildegard herself if he was lucky. But the odds were stacked overwhelmingly against that happening. He wouldn't get to her unless all of her men were dead, or if she pulled a 'heroic' move and challenged him to single combat. He would relish the latter, as it would give the opportunity to show the arrogant Queen just how displeased he was by her constant meddling. His blade would be too quick though, and not cause enough agony. One of his maces perhaps? The Mace of Doom was a particularly nasty looking weapon, covered in more spikes than you could shake a sword at. He pulled himself out of his revenge fantasy just in time to stop himself from running headlong over a cliff.

His temporary ally snarled at him. "Perfect, excellent planning. Is this where we throw ourselves off into the abyss to avoid the painful fate that Hildegard certainly has planned for us?"

He ignored the remark, as amusing as it was, and focused on dealing with the chasm in front of him. One particular tree looked perfect for an impromptu bridge, and in order to use the plant in that capacity he drew his blade.

The woman seemed to view the gesture in a different light. "Oh, I get it now. You kill me and leave my corpse for them to find so you can escape, typical."

He shook his head and swung his blade twice at the trunk of the tree next to him, cutting out a large right-triangle in the wood. Then he smacked the tree in the direction he wanted it to fall and stood there without yelling the obligatory cry of 'timber.' When the tree settled into place he gestured to it with a very obvious 'after you' wave of his hand. His ally gave him a rather astonished look, then stepped across the log with her nose up in the air. He couldn't help but smirk, even when she was proven completely wrong this woman simply could not be brought to admit that. Pride did not become any more obvious than that. He followed the silver-haired woman across and waited. Moments later the vanguard of the Wolfkrone army arrived on the other side of the gorge.

Unable to resist the opportunity, he waited until the soldiers had dismounted and started across the log bridge before emerging from the shadows of the trees to slice the top off of the tree with one swing, sending the soldiers on the log down into the chasm with a symphony of screams. Almost exactly on cue, Hildegard appeared on the other side, out of his reach, but he was also out of her's. To rub that fact in the monarch's face he flipped a mock salute before opening the gateway back to the Dark Tower in plain view.

Wolfkrone lines:

Hildegard von Krone was shaken to her core, she knew it, and that made her furious. She had faced the wielder of the Cursed Sword himself, Nightmare, without so much as a flicker of fear, and then this monstrosity barely opens his mouth and strikes fear into her entire army. That, to her, was completely unacceptable. Still, the amount of utter contempt that the titan had had in his voice, it made her think.

She violently shook her head to rid herself of the ridiculous notion that the monster could not be beaten. "No, you will not escape the blade of the righteous. Not you, nor that cursed Nightmare."

On the other side of the chasm the evil creature waved his hand through the air, and in immediate response a huge tear opened in the very ether, just as the dying soldier had said. Refusing to let the creature get away unscathed she cocked her arm back, and hurled her lance with all the strength she could summon.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Sophitia eagerly waited a few steps in front of the throne for the return of The Overlord. She had been in the Library, browsing through the various books with titles such as, 'Tyranny Made Easy' or 'An Evildoer's Guide to Evil.' It was surprising to her that some of the books had encouraged acts of charity and kindness to the subjects of an Evil domain, but it made sense that the gratitude of the masses was a useful thing. She had actually been perusing a book written by a previous Overlord on the benefits of a modicum of kindness when Gnarl had notified her that Erasmus was on his way. The Portal pulsed, once, twice, and deposited The Overlord mere feet from her. She took one step forward, a smile on her face, then the Portal pulsed again and dropped a tall woman with silver hair inches away from Erasmus.

Shock hit her first because she recognized the woman from her numerous journey's to destroy Soul Edge, then without knowing why she grabbed Erasmus's hand and pulled him out from in front of the Portal. Mere seconds after she touched the warm metal of The Overlord's gauntlet a large lance flew out of the Portal, skipped off the top of The Overlord's shoulder, and flew off deeper into the Tower.

Gnarl seemed to just appear from near the Throne. "Welcome ba-" The flying lance hit the Minion Master square in the chest.

Erasmus was up before she could even process what had happened and over at Gnarl's side with three Blue minions that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Clearly, in spite of the nuisance that Gnarl made of himself, Erasmus still cared for the old minion to some extent.

The hand waving and chanting of the Blues took effect, and Gnarl stood up again, minus the lance. "Oh, well it has been quite some time since that has happened." The freshly revived Minion Master looked up at The Overlord. "Are you alright Sire? You seem a bit tense."

Seeing exactly what Gnarl saw, she set a hand on Erasmus's shoulder, threading her fingers between the spikes. One word slipped out of her mouth, completely at random; "Darling?"

The Overlord slowly rose to his feet, and she could literally feel the air around her growing significantly warmer. "**I've made up my mind. By this time two days from now, Wolfkrone will die.**"


	6. Allout Assault

Chapter 6: All-out Assault

Dark Tower: Throne Room

The Overlord held in his hand the lance that had flown through the void to strike down one of his people, in his home. The flag attached clearly marked it as a weapon of Wolfkrone, as if that wasn't obvious enough. He also had the notion that it was the personal weapon of Hildegard herself. This feeling of utter rage he had felt only twice before in his entire life. Once, when the Old Overlord had attempted to usurp his throne and almost succeeded. And twice, when Rose had utilized the Tower crane to drop a load of stone down upon Velvet. Both times his malice had only been satisfied by the execution of the cause, and he felt that this time would be no different. He knew that his Wraiths were ready and able to unleash mass slaughter on demand, but he had always prided himself on being a far better tactician than the barbarian some people called him. As such, there were certain tools that needed to be prepared, including one dwarven invention that he had wanted to get his hands on for months, but never had quite enough drive to bother capturing.

He swung his head towards the freshly-revived Gnarl. "**Go to the Library, I want you to find out how to build a Tower Gate. I'm not going to waste any more time wandering back and forth between Stonehenge and anywhere else.**" He turned to the mystery woman and jabbed a finger towards the Private Quarters. "**Go upstairs and find yourself an empty room, I do not care which one.**" And finally he rounded on Sophitia. "**I have a minor errand to run. Expect me back shortly, with cargo.**"

Without speaking, or hearing another word he activated the Portal and sped off to the Golden Hills. Provided that he did not utilize any of the smaller Waypoint Gates he should still be able to return to Wolfkrone when he was ready to eradicate Hildegard. If not, then he supposed he would have to suffer through one final voyage across the same sea.

Golden Hills: Arcanium Mine

The Overlord stepped into the mine on the walkway overlooking the furnace. It had been quite some time since he had been here last, but as with everything else in the Golden Hills it never seemed to change. The new arcanium smelter was in the exact place it had been when he had stolen it months ago, and, as he had hoped, there were dwarves armed with flamethrowers set to protect it. Three were standing in a loose ring around the assembly area where the ore was fed into the smelter, and he only needed one. Still, three of them gave him three chances to get his plan right.

He glanced around quickly to make sure no other dwarves would ambush his Blues while he had them hang back. Finding no proximate threats he directed all twenty of his Reds out into the exact center of the assembly area. Automatically, all of the Reds started throwing fireballs at each of the flamer dwarves, and as always each fireball did absolutely nothing. The predictable cry of, 'fire no hurt it' arose only a few moments later. Quick to respond, all of the dwarves started unloading fire at his Reds, but that was all according to plan. Being fireproof was always nice, a trait he wished that he shared on numerous occasions.

Now came the complicated part of his plan, he would have to personally sneak his way down to the assembly area and stab one of the dwarves through the head to kill them, but leave the device intact. To begin with, he had never tried to imitate the Green minions before. He knew that he lacked the extent of stealth that they could manage, with the exceptional difference that he wouldn't be given away by a horrid stench. The stink of the Greens had foiled several of his most cunning ambushes over the course of his Evil career, but when they worked they worked wondrously so it was worth keeping them around.

He began to close with the flamer dwarf on the left of the area, using the glare caused by the streams of fire and the exposed pipes to approach unseen. When he thought that he was in range, he drew his blade and stabbed straight in from the dwarf's right side. Unfortunately the dwarf seemed to have spotted him at the last second and his sword nicked the red tank as the flamer tried to twist away. Cursing his luck, he moved his Reds away from the doomed flamer dwarf and took cover behind a set of pipes. The explosion had always been amusing to him, watching the dwarf scamper about trying to dump the tank before it exploded, but there was no amusement in watching the object he had come for detonate. Sighing with exasperation, he distracted himself from the first failed attempt by mechanically collecting the Red Life-force from the corpse. He only paused to watch the grand total rise of Red Life-force rise above one hundred thousand before moving on to the next flamer dwarf.

This time he would try something a little more risky, but if it paid off the reward would outweigh the slight scorching he would get if he screwed up. By utilizing a similar set of pipes and fixtures he approached the flamer out in the relative center, just beyond the reach of the third. He waited until the flamer was trying to roast the Reds before making his move, driving his blade straight down through the top of the dwarf's head. His actions were immediately rewarded by the hissing sound of a ruptured tank. Cursing his luck once again he withdrew his blade and once again started to run, but not quite fast enough to escape the entire explosion.

He rubbed the back of his helmet to stop his ears from ringing, with only partial success. Once he felt better he started to get up in order to try something similar on the last flamer, but he stopped himself as a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. He was trying brute force, while ignoring the dwarves pathological obsession with gold. As the word gold crossed his thoughts he had an epiphany, and had the Tower Heart send him a full one-thousand gold in a large sack. The Tower Heart dropped the gold right in the center of the assembly area.

Instantly, the flamer dwarf forgot all about his Red minions to run over and start hugging the gold, licking it, and trying to eat it. It was almost laughable, but he was too busy being cunning to laugh. Ten of his Reds ran over and picked up the sack, drawing it away from the dwarf who immediately started to stumble after the sack with the full weight of the tank on it's back. With an Evil smirk on his face, he had his Reds move faster than the dwarf, and as the gold started drawing away from the dwarf he could see the panic mounting in the tiny eyes. With a pathetic whine the dwarf dropped the flame gear and sprinted after the gold, right into his arcanium blade.

Satisfied with the performance, he allowed his Reds to carry the sack of gold back to the Waypoint gate while he went to personally collect the flamethrower. Having seen the device in operation hundreds of times before he had little trouble donning the straps and lashing it to his own back. Within moments of strapping it on he had both nozzles, one in each hand, spraying fire from both tubes. It was an almost intoxicating sense of power, and knowing the dwarves love of anything intoxicating it was fairly obvious why they had never tried to run away from him before. Now the only annoying thing was that he would be forced to walk all the way to the main Tower Gate with this tank on his back, and already the power trip was wearing off to be replaced with the thought of what would happen should the tank get hit while he was wearing it.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Ivy was taking her 'host' up on the offer of a room, but she fully expected that at some later point he was going to demand something of her in return. Things were always like that. Every good deed had a catch, the hidden hook. She seemed to have the particular misfortune of running into more than her fair share of baited deals. Nightmare had used her early on as a minion before she knew whom she was serving. Later, her own father had devoured most of her soul. The only reason she still lived was that her genius in alchemy had allowed her to create an artificial soul to sustain her. Last year she had hoped that the artificial soul would have allowed her to wield Soul Calibur and finally destroy Soul Edge, but Hildegard had ruined everything with her untimely arrival. She wanted payback, and her 'host' had quite clearly stated that he was going to utterly destroy Hildegard and all of Wolfkrone along with her. Hell yes she was going to stick around for the show.

In the meantime, it wouldn't hurt her to get a bit of sleep, with the door locked behind her. Especially since she had been traveling on a bare minimum of rest for the last week or so in a futile effort to evade the Wolfkrone military. For no particular reason she opened the third door she passed and shut it behind her in one movement. Upon turning around she was a little bit surprised to note that there were torture implements in the far corner of the room, along with a full set of cages for keeping victims in. Ignoring that part of the room she rather liked the setup, but she had issue with the stained glass windows that had been made to resemble some other woman, not one she had met yet. But, her 'host' had said an empty room, and as there was no one else here she classified it as 'empty.'

With a sigh she removed the only real armor she wore and unceremoniously dropped backwards onto the large bed. In a moment, without any real conscious thought driving her, she rolled her shoulders a few times to settle a little bit deeper into the mattress. The bed was absolutely perfect, the perfect amount of support, the perfect amount of softness, if she forgot where she was she could almost go back and imagine that she was a young girl again, back before her adoptive father had gone mad pursuing Soul Edge. To date that was the one time in her life where she could remember being truly happy, everything since then just seemed to be one terrible misfortune after the other.

Not for the first time she cursed her birth father, Cervantes, for denying her everything that a normal life could have given her. A family, a real home, love, for some reason the lack of the last thing gnawed at her more that both of the others put together. Perhaps because the latter required neither of the first two to exist. She shook her head in a futile attempt to rid herself of thoughts that only led her down a path that hurt at the eventual end. With a mind torn between rage and despondence, she turned her head into the pillow and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Sophitia slowly walked up the stairs from the dungeons, fatigue forcing her to lean on the wall occasionally for support. A Brown minion that called itself Wink had helped her set up a round in the arena downstairs against the halflings that Erasmus had mentioned on occasion. It had been a disaster. Every single one of the flabby-faced midgets had rushed her in one giant clump, and such combat was well outside of her comfort zone. It wasn't that the halflings themselves hadn't been difficult to kill, she had just been forced to hop around at a staggering rate to avoid getting gutted upon a short sword. Still, as their physique showed, the halflings had terrible stamina. After about ten minutes of non-stop jumping she had been able to start picking them off one by one as the group spread out.

She sighed to herself as she reached the top. "If all of Erasmus's enemies fight like that it's no wonder at all how he got as good as he is." She turned to the executioner minion whom she had learned was named, rather unimaginatively, Chopper. "Has The Overlord returned yet?"

Chopper attempted to salute, and nearly fell all the way down the stairs as a result. "Yes Mistress, in Forge over there!"

She had quickly learned that the Browns liked to be scratched behind the ears, and she utilized that knowledge now; "Thank you, Chopper." The Brown's tongue drooped out of its mouth in ecstasy, and the weight of the axe finally carried it backwards down the stairs with a loud series of crashes.

Embarrassed by being the cause, she covered for it as best she could by ignoring the rolling minion like nothing odd was happening at all. The facade was flimsy at best, so she moved to the Forge as quickly as her worn body allowed.

Going down the stairs to the Forge was no trouble at all, the strain started to pile on when the heat rose to infernal levels before she could even see any equipment. At the bottom it was hot enough that she was having a hard time breathing, but as she could see molten metal in almost every corner of the chamber that made quite a bit of sense. There were no torches anywhere that she could see. The only source of light came from three massive pots of metal at one end, and it was beneath those three pots, framed in a fiery halo, swinging a hammer that was bigger than her head, pounding on metal that was still glowing white-hot, stood The Overlord. Around her beloved, minions scampered to and fro, bearing burdens ranging from raw ore to fully finished equipment. Every once in a while a flying glob of molten metal would strike a random minion, and within moments a Blue would arrive and revive the poor thing. It was the kind of organized chaos that she had come to expect around the Dark Tower, only amplified by an order of magnitude.

She slowly weaved her way through the cacophony to stand before The Overlord, taking extreme care not to be struck by flying metal; "Erasmus?" She was forced to shout over the crash of hammer on metal.

The Overlord did not even pause his work, only shooting a split second glance up at her to clarify who was speaking. "**Something I can help you with?**"

She felt rather silly for butting in like this, but she was concerned. However she wasn't just going to spring the subject on Erasmus, she needed a little more tact than that. "Not really, I was just curious as to what you had retrieved from the Golden Hills."

Erasmus started peeling flanges away from the end of the metal he was working, with his bare hands, so to speak. "**The device being inspected and duplicated by Giblet over by the entrance, a dwarven flamethrower.**"

She gestured at the glowing metal in his hands. "And you are working on...?"

Erasmus seemed satisfied with the number of flanges on the weapon, and quenched the metal in a barrel of water. "**I'm re-forging the Mace of Doom. The original recipe called for durium metal, but I'm improvising and forging it from arcanium.**" Before she could ask the obvious next question The Overlord pointed at the pots behind him, starting with the one in the relative back of the group. "**The smelters for steel, durium, and arcanium, in that order.**" Erasmus withdrew the demonic looking mace from the water, and the weapon had taken on a cruel blue glow. "**Which reminds me, I have something for you.**" The Overlord picked up a small object from the side of his personal anvil and handed it to her. "**I'd like for you to start wearing this, especially should you decide to take the field with me on the morrow. It does not matter where you decide to put it, so long as it is touching skin.**"

She held the object up on the fiery light of the Forge to examine it. It was a medium-sized hoop of intricately wrought metal decorated with motifs of skulls, bones, and where she could consider to be the center of the ring, a single rose rendered with loving detail down to the very last petal. There was something soothing about touching the metal, but it was a little too large to be worn as a bracelet, as a ring was not even worth considering. Perhaps around her neck?

Erasmus tapped the side of his command gauntlet. "**It's arcanium, like what I wear on my own person. Anything less than having your head removed, and you should live. The wounds will still hurt, but you'll live.**" A moment of relative silence passed. "**What else did you want to discuss?**"

Surprise at having her facade called caused her to stumble over her first words. "I, I didn't, I just wanted to check in on you."

The Overlord didn't seem fooled at all. "**It's about the other woman that I brought here isn't it?**"

Having the truth out made feel just a bit better, if only just; "Ivy, yes."

She got the odd impression that Erasmus was smiling at her, even though she could not see it. "**And you are concerned that I brought her here on purpose, to stay. If that's it you needn't worry, I'm not going to make any direct effort to convince her.**"

A laugh escaped her; "As I recall, you didn't make any direct effort to get me to stay either. But here I am, regardless."

Erasmus set a hand on her shoulder and started to lead her out of the Forge. "**Well, I suppose I will have to deal with that if it arises.**"

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Sophitia smiled to herself as Erasmus led her to her door, almost like a prince in certain old fairy-tales that she had heard, and occasionally told. The though of telling stories to her lost children rubbed salt in the wound that had yet to close, but it was healing. Lately, she had even been toying with the prospect that, sometime in the future, she could have another child. It was too soon to seriously consider, as her memories of Pyrrah and Patralkos were still moderately fresh, but it was something she knew she wanted.

Erasmus opened the door for her. "**You might think about getting a good deal of sleep, especially if you plan on joining the battle tomorrow.**"

Surprise made her blurt out an objection. "But, I thought that you were attacking two days from now."

The Overlord shook his head slowly. "**I seem to have overestimated the time it would take to prepare all of my resources. The attack will occur tomorrow, not the day after.**" Erasmus started to turn away.

An impluse caused her hand to lash out and seize The Overlord's hand before he moved out of reach. "Wait, I, before we take the field..." Despite all the time she had spent around Erasmus she still couldn't quite finish the thought.

Erasmus gave her an odd look, and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side; "**You, oh!**" The odd look went away, and it became very obvious that he had caught on to what she was insinuating. "**You realize that it would be very cliche, on the eve of battle and such.**"

Feeling rather liberated, she smiled up at Erasmus. "Would you object if I said I didn't care?"

The Overlordfollowed her into her room, shutting the door firmly behind him. "**No, I don't think I would complain in the least.**"

Thus encouraged, she reached up and looped her fingers under the fringe of Erasmus's helmet, and slowly, almost reverently, lifted it off. She was only moderately surprised to see that the armor had made no illusion, his skin truly was as black as a starless night. As more and more of the armor fell away, with his aid, all she could see was a tide of ebon muscle that looked powerful enough to hold up the entire world. If ever there was a perfect man, Erasmus was he.

Erasmus smiled at her, glowing black, if such a thing was possible. "**There's me, now it's your turn.**" With a touch that felt as gentle as a butterfly landing The Overlord set his hands on her shoulders before sliding her outfit off in one smooth motion. "**Now that was much less complicated, wasn't it?**"

She found herself giggling as Erasmus physically bore her back to her bed, and soon after that she stopped thinking at all.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Gnarl sat upon the bottom step of the dias that housed the throne of The Overlord, thinking to himself on why the minions weren't allowed to follow the Master through that one gate. Could it be something about the other world having strict limits on the amount of magic allowed to exist? Doubtful, otherwise The Overlord would never have arrived in the first place. Maybe...

He felt the very stone beneath him start to shiver, then shake, swelling to a frenzied quaking. This was a sign he had long ago learned to recognize, and anticipate, with a great deal of delight. He would have to notify Quaver if the jester was not aware of it already. Perhaps the jester could create some kind of poem to commemorate the occasion?

Another sound caught his attention, one only slightly louder than the sound of quaking stone, and he looked towards the stairs to the Private Quarters just in time to see the silver-haired wench take a rather nasty tumble down the last five steps.

The wench clawed her way to her feet by holding onto one of the statues. Soon after, she shouted at him. "What the hell is going on!"

He felt a huge grin spread across his face. "The Master is just becoming better acquainted with his Mistress. I'm actually rather let down that you aren't involved as well, but he will do as he wishes."

Utter disbelief twisted the wench's face. "This, is him having sex? That's completely impossible!" Almost immediately after uttering the word 'impossible' a particularly violent shockwave sent the wench's head up into the statue she was holding onto.

From the way she was sprawled across the floor, most would assume that the wench had died. But the occasional finger twitch or pulsing vein told him otherwise. Good thing to, it would be a shame to lose a beauty like that to a simple accident.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Ivy felt two things as she slowly came to. First, she heard someone commenting on something being cute, adorable, whatever. Second, she felt a slight weight on her chest. Well, slightly more than usual anyway. She opened her eyes, and found herself staring up into the baleful golden eyes of The Overlord, and into the smug face of Sophitia.

A voice that could only belong to the Dark Lord shoved aside what remained of her headache. "**So good to see that you and Gnarl are getting along.**"

She started to sit up; "What are you..." She trailed off as she realized what the extra weight on her chest was. The old thing she had been shouting at before she fell unconscious had lain the back of its head right on the middle line of her cleavage. She quickly rectified the issue by punching the wizened thing upside the head, sending 'Gnarl' flying across the room to skid to a halt behind the throne.

Sophitia clicked her tongue a few times. "Gnarl will never learn, will he?"

The Overlord shook his head before speaking. "**No, never. But I suppose that's just who he is.**" The golden eyes turned back to her. "**I hope you saved enough of that fury to direct against Hildegard, because the attack is happening now. Get up and follow or stay here, your choice.**"

She watched The Overlord and Sophitia walk over to where she had arrived, arm in arm, and in the same manner they both jumped feet first into a pool of water. Only a moment of hesitation later, and she was scrambling to her feet to follow. She would be damned before she would miss Hildegard getting her just desserts.

Wolfkrone camp:

Hildegard huddled around the fire she was sharing with her knight-general. It had been at least a day since the titan had vanished into the void on the far side of the canyon, but something held her here. She just knew it in her core that sooner or later that despicable creature would return to do battle in earnest. When he did, her valiant troops would finally be able to crush him into the fine paste that he deserved to be.

In spite of the bold thoughts running through her head, or, perhaps in response to them, there was a voice whispering to her that it was futile to resist. That she should just surrender and spare the lives of countless men. But she refused to accept that there was an enemy that she could not defeat, that the spirit of her people could not overcome. But no matter how many times she violently railed against the voice in her head it merely persisted, seeming to only grow more convincing with every outburst.

Her musing was interrupted by the arrival of one of her scouts, out of breath and clearly frightened beyond all reason. "Milady, the titan has returned, and he marches at the head of an army. His troops rise from the Earth itself. There are more every moment that passes. We are-"

She rose and put her hand over the mouth of the frenzied scout. "Silence, we will overcome this monstrosity. By standing together, with the strength of our homeland behind us." She gave the scout a rough shove. "Now rally the men, on the double!"

With adrenaline pumping through her veins already she mounted her horse and rode for the tree-line, taking a guess that the red glow on the horizon was the approaching hoard. Around her the soldiers readied their weapons, slammed shut a book or journal, tucked letters to their loved ones away, or took one last swig of wine. Everything functioning like the well-oiled mechanical parts of the monument back at the castle. In the face of this discipline, even the doubtful voice in her head momentarily silenced itself.

She reached the front, and the voice of doubt surged back with a vengeance. The undead hoards of the titan's armies blackened the opposite slope of the basin, far more than the troops she had under her command. Off on the enemy side of the battlefield she saw bursts of fire, and from every burst of flame stepped a new hellish creature. Above it all, standing atop the highest point of the opposite ridge and ringed with a halo of hellfire, stood the titan himself. Like the looming specter of Death himself ridden forth from the darkest corner of the Abyss to collect her life.

Someone tugged on her leg to get her attention. "Milady, the troops are waiting for you to give them orders."

She wheeled the horse around and faced her troops, putting on the bravest face she could manage. "Men, we may be facing all the forces of evil here today but..."

Basin Ridge: Wraith Command

The Overlord held his arms across his chest and surveyed the mass of Evil spread out before him. He knew that he had many advantages over the regular soldiers hiding amongst the trees at the far end of the basin, numbers, the power of the individual unit, self-replicating soldiers. On top of that, he had vast reserves of magic power that he knew how to use very effectively.

He cast his gaze towards the far side and watched a lone rider going back and forth across the front lines of the Wolfkrone formation. "**Good, she's started rambling. That gives me plenty of time to do whatever I need to finalize her end.**"

He meshed his fingers together and snapped them in preparation for one last summon. If it was going to take Hildegard twenty minutes to inspire her men, it would take him ten seconds to demoralize them. After all, Quaver didn't call him 'He whom Death fears' for nothing. The presence of a true to life Reaper would do wonders sowing fear and panic amongst his enemies. Unlike the other Wraiths, he had to invite the Reapers to the field and hope that one of the plethora of Reapers in the Infernal Abyss felt like coming to him. This time his luck held and he saw the scythe rise out of the fiery pit that opened at his call. The Reaper that rose completely ignored him and made a beeline for the mass of Wraiths. Along the way, Wraiths armed, not with blades, but with instruments arose in the wake of the Reaper.

He let out an agonized groan as he realized exactly which Reaper he had caught. "**Why, out of all the Reapers in the Infernal Abyss, did I have to attract this one?**"

Sophitia walked up behind him. "What's so terrible about..." She trailed off when she saw what he had summoned, followed by the obligatory blurted question of 'Is that Death?'

He sighed, and considered his words for a moment. "**The real thing, no. A very convincing mockery that drives the Wraiths onwards, yes. This one just does it in a far more flamboyant manner than all of the others put together. You'll find out in just a moment what I'm talking about.**"

True to his prediction, the Heaven's Peak Reaper climbed up onto a ledge overlooking the basin, surrounded by its entourage of Wraiths. A bony hand flew across the upturned scythe, and music belted forth instead of death. From an objective point of view he could appreciate the melody, as violent and brutal as it was, but to him music had no place on a battlefield. He shot a sidelong glance at Sophitia, and noticed that her head was ever so slightly bobbing in time with the beat.

His Mistress caught him staring and blushed. "What? It's rather catchy."

He shook his head and turned his attention back to the opposing army. On the far side of the basin the Wolfkrone soldiers were emerging from the trees and deploying lines of pikes, clearly an attempt to skewer his first wave of soldiers. He however, had other ideas in mind. He sent a battalion of his Wraiths forward, moving at a nice even pace until they were within spitting distance of the enemy lines. Then he pushed a cleverly disguised line of shield Wraiths to the front of the formation and cast his Legion of Terror spell across his entire army. The immediate panic was enough to shatter the pike formation and allow his shield Wraiths easy access to the heart of the Wolfkrone front lines. Immediately after that he released the spell, it took a lot of mana to maintain, and that was mana he might need later.

At his side, Sophitia commented with one word, and the approval was obvious; "Brutal." Then she got his attention. "What do you want me to do?"

He turned his gaze momentarily away from the battle. "**I'm only giving you one order, survive. Do whatever you wish otherwise.**"

Turning back to the army assembled before him, he lifted the Mace of Doom into the air, and waved the entire body of his army forward. And he joined them, a wild run to the tragedy that Hildegard had orchestrated for herself.

Wolfkrone Lines:

Hildegard could not believe what her eyes were telling her. That a relatively small number of abominations had made a bloody smear out of her front lines within seconds. Those same monsters had continued to run straight through her men, killing with impunity, until they had struck the trees and were slain. Now a host far greater than the last was approaching with the inevitability of a winter storm.

She thrust her lance through the crowd and impaled one of the monsters that was about to murder her knight-general, before screaming to him. "Signal the flanking charge, NOW!"

Immediately complying, the knight-general sounded the charge, with a long, deep blast from the horn at his waist. From behind the advancing hoard a battalion of her best men emerged from the trees, and began sprinting towards the enemy. As she watched, a single figure detached itself from the onrushing army, and, even from this distance, there was no mistaking the unique visage of the titan.

Elation filled her with newfound confidence. "The fool, he is going to try and stop a whole battalion by himself? Madness."

Wraith Charge: Rear

Sophitia found herself trailing behind the army of skeletal warriors, not from any desire to not be at the front, but because there was simply no way she could wedge herself through without being trampled by the unstoppable tide of Wraiths. She had never even been part of a real army before, so the whole idea of mass battle was foreign to her. Regardless, she wasn't going to stand at the back and just watch. One way or another she was getting to the front lines to contribute in a meaningful way.

Behind her, the noise just rising over the pounding melody that was still pouring from the Reaper at the top of the ridge, a crash from the brush brought her eyes around to spot a large group of Wolfkrone men breaking from cover and charging towards her. With one glance back at the receding tide of Wraiths she stood her ground and waited for the soldiers to reach her. She supposed that this would be her contribution, although she had a bad feeling that the arcanium band that rested snug around the top of her left thigh would be pushed to the limit.

Before the soldiers could reach her, they all turned sharply away, and when she turned her head in the same direction she could see why. Erasmus to had turned to face the flanking soldiers, and from here it was hard to tell if he had done so because he thought her in danger, or if he was just doing what he thought prudent. Either way, The Overlord stood alone against maybe fifty to sixty men. In addition, she saw a shadow detach itself from the trees close to her and start to move towards Erasmus's back. No Wolfkrone soldier moved like that, only a certain person that she would have never expected to see here.

Deciding quickly to deal with the threat she knew she could handle she sprinted across the intervening distance and rammed the shadow with her shoulder. From the minor illusion emerged the figure of a woman she had encountered many times before, but never as a true enemy. Taki, the woman who had saved her life long ago when she had shattered Soul Edge.

Taki sprang back to her feet as if nothing had happened and fixated her with an emotionless gaze. "Fine, you can die first."

Wolfkrone Lines:

Hildegard watched the flanking charge approach the Dark Lord with anticipation, hope swelling within her that, with him dead, the vast army arrayed against her would quickly crumble. As she looked on, the first man reached the titan, and was flung back into the rest with enough force to cause her to wince out of empathy.

The Dark Lord did not stop with just the one man, every swing of the cruel mace the creature was holding dealt far more damage than she imagined most any weapon could deal, with the exception of Soul Edge itself. Every single blow crushed one of her troops into a bloody pulp on contact, and an explosion of pure force shot outwards from every connecting blow, turning a blow against one man into a strike that sent seven men flying off into the air like feathers thrown by an violent gale. As the Dark Lord finished off the last surviving member of the flanking charge with a brutal stomp to the face, she felt her chances for victory being ground further down.

Battleground:

Sophitia could hardly remember the last time she had done battle with Taki, but she was re-learning just how dangerous the ninja was with every crossed blade, every deflected kick. It was imperative that she press the attack, but Taki was so mobile, even more so than her, that it was difficult to keep track of both of the small blades.

Taki was speaking as well as fighting, but the tone was more of a lecture than anything else. "I followed the trail of Evil to this place to eliminate it, yet imagine my surprise when I spot you right next to the source, almost corrupted beyond recognition, and speaking to that thing with adoration, even desire. I knew you were weak-willed before but-"

Fury at the ninja for belittling what she had with Erasmus drove her to recklessly slash at Taki's head, but the result was a long, extremely shallow cut across the ninja's face. It also gave her reason to respond. "And how are you any different? You have had a piece of Soul Edge bound to one of your blades for almost as long as I can remember!"

The smallest flicker of emotion crossed Taki's face, but she could not discern which one it was. "That Evil is contained, and controlled. I cannot say the same for-"

She almost managed a repeat performance, but the ninja twisted out of the way at the last moment. "Shut up! You've been like this for as long as I can remember. Preaching about what is right and wrong and yet doing the exact opposite. What about all of the people that you've killed? Doesn't that make you Evil in your own eyes? Or do you actually believe the lies you tell yourself?"

Taki deliberately did not answer any of her questions. "I am not the pawn of Evil. Do you even know how much you have been corrupted? Do you even care?"

She caught both of Taki's blades, one on her sword, and the other on her shield. "The answer to both..." She kicked the ninja in the chest with all the strength she could gather. "... is NO!"

She felt bone give way beneath the blow, and in two quick leaps Taki fled the field.

Front Lines:

The Overlord was getting well and truly annoyed by now. Hildegard had put up a decent struggle, but he hadn't even utilized his trump card yet. Not wanting the battle to end without putting said card to the test he snapped his fingers, summoning four more Wraiths to the fray. The difference, was that these Wraiths were armed with flamethrowers. The sound of the fire spinning up was immediately followed with the cries of agony as men were burned in their suits of armor, and the fire only spread as the burning men panicked.

While he would have been perfectly happy if Hildegard fought to the last man, the white flag that slowly lifted out of the center told him a different story. Again though, he wasn't going to complain. With a slight wave of his hand he ordered all of his Wraiths to back off, and he strode forward as his opposite did the same from within the remaining Wolfkrone soldiers.

Hildegard was trying to look defiant, but he could see the despair in her eyes. "Enough, Demon. Let us settle this on our own, one on one, with honor."

He let out a low chuckle that caused the soldiers, as well as Hildegard, to cringe away. "**Trying to play the hero and save all of your people through self-sacrifice? Fine, I will not deny you your death-wish.**"

Hildegard immediately tried to impale him upon her lance, but she lacked both the strength and material to even dent the arcanium, so he just let the tip crack against his stomach. In response, he reached out and grabbed Hildegard by the back of the helmet and slammed her face against his chest hard enough to split the helm on her head. While she staggered from that blow he kicked the lance out of her hand and stomped on her sword hand, pinning both weapon and owner to the ground.

He commented, contempt dripping from his words. "**For all the annoyance you have caused me you really didn't put up much of a fight.**" He held his free hand over Hildegard's face. "**Now, I never really bother to explain this to anyone, but I want you and your men to know what is going to happen to you. I am going to overpower your mind and enslave you. That's about it.**"

Without bothering to conserve mana he allowed the spell to explode and dominate Hildegard before half the men left standing could so much as blink.

He stopped casting and gave his slave her first order; "**Stand.**" He waited only momentarily before Hildegard complied. "**Good, now take your sword...**" Again he waited only seconds. "**...Good. Now stab yourself through your right leg.**"

The sound of punctured flesh accompanied by the piercing scream of Hildegard drove his point home. Without any further ado he opened a Gate back to the Tower and hurled the former monarch through it, giving Gnarl specific orders to keep her alive so the torture could continue. As he turned back to the other soldiers they all, in perfect unison, dropped down to their knees and pledged eternal service to him. He was even pleasantly surprised to hear them get his title right. They called him 'The Overlord.'

He shifted his gaze from his new subjects to the Eastern horizon, knowing now that the only thing keeping him from Soul Edge now, was distance.


	7. The Queen of Thorns

Chapter 7: The Queen of Thorns

Sophitia was only a little bit surprised by the extent of Erasmus's brutality against Hildegard. If she was honest with herself, she had expected The Overlord to kill Hildegard on the spot, but leaving her alive just to be tortured definitely sent a message to the other remaining Wolfkrone soldiers. On the flip side, she also felt the slightest amount of sympathy for the fallen Queen. Objectively it could just be said that Hildegard was only trying to keep her kingdom safe, but as the target of that supposed 'righteous' fury it was very hard to be objective.

Erasmus turned back to her, and away from his new subjects. "**You could return to the Tower if you like. After all, I will just be following these men back to their capitol to set up the new Tower Gate with Gnarl's assistance.**"

Unless Erasmus had eyes on the back of his head, which she knew from personal experience that he didn't, there was no conceivable way he knew about her little duel with Taki. Regardless, the offer was very considerate of The Overlord. "I think that sounds fine. I've had enough fighting for one day."

Erasmus turned his head to the side for just a moment, and then responded. "**You aren't the only one.**"

A moment of confusion hit her, as she was sure her lover would not tire of fighting until the entire world went down in flames. Then she turned her head toward whatever might have brought on the cryptic remark. Shock hit her, "Ivy?"

The other woman was covered in scratches from head to toe with thin rivulets of blood running down all the way to the ground. Ivy's silver hair was disheveled and she could see patches where it was obvious that pieces had been crudely cut away by an enemy blade. Her knees were bent inwards from fatigue and her fingers were slack around the handle of the whip-sword. Every sign saying that Ivy had been right in the thick of the fray the entire battle.

Ivy scowled at her, leaning on her own knees for support. "You are 'tired of fighting?' This coming from the woman who fought one person the entire battle."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Erasmus beat her to the first word. "**If one opponent is all Sophitia wanted to fight, then that is entirely up to her. I appreciate the effort you put in for the entire stretch Ivy, and I would not have thought any less of you had you done far less.**" The Overlord shifted his gaze back and forth between the both of them. "**Now do you wish to return to the Dark Tower or not?**"

She unconsciously shot a glance at Ivy, and observed that the other woman had done the same; "I'll go." This conclusion was echoed by Ivy.

In spite of Erasmus's earlier words to her, about how he wasn't going to make any effort to push Ivy's mind one way or the other when it came to having the other woman stay, she was starting to feel that perhaps that choice shouldn't be left only in Ivy's hands. After all, that comment about her participation was clearly meant to undermine Erasmus's opinion of her, even though it had failed. She didn't want a renegade element running rampant around the Tower, undercutting her actions at every turn.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Ivy staggered into her room and fell flat across the small couch, as limp as a rag. Current knowledge notwithstanding, she felt like a complete idiot for hurling herself into the fray like she had. All for the express purpose of sliding into the good graces of The Overlord. She validated her actions by telling herself that it would be thoroughly stupid to become the enemy of The Overlord, even more so in light of Hildegard's fate. She knew, without question, that her quest to destroy Soul Edge was now completely futile. She might be able to destroy the Evil Sword if she reached Ostrhinesburg before The Overlord, if she somehow fought her way through the warriors still in service to Nightmare, and if she managed to accomplish the herculean task of defeating the Azure Knight himself. Even if, by some impossible stroke of divine intervention, she managed all of that, The Overlord would kill her on the spot for robbing him of Soul Edge. Worse, she could be thrown in the dungeon alongside Hildegard to suffer for near eternity.

The fresh knowledge that, even if she had done nothing at all during the battle, she still had The Overlord's respect was, at the same time, both infuriating and, perish the thought, a little bit endearing. Try as she might she could not find one single hook in anything that he had done, no quid pro quo, no nothing. That sparked an idea in her head that, perhaps, there were decent men in existence somewhere. In stark contrast, every aspect of her life up until now rebelled against the very concept.

She muttered to herself, airing a rather crazy idea that coalesced in her head. "What if I just ask him point blank what he expects of me?"

The possibility that The Overlord would be insulted by a direct approach did not occur to her. Instead, she found herself thinking of what the answer would be if she did carry out her thought. Of course, there existed the possibility that he would lie. And she felt that, with that voice of his, she would feel compelled to believe him anyway. A prospect that she found strangely frightening was that he might actually be honest. If in fact The Overlord had helped her out of the decency of his heart, and admitted to it, she really couldn't begin to think about what she would do. It had just never happened to her before.

She rose from the couch, feeling only moderately better than she had when she lay down earlier. According to The Overlord, he would be returning to the Dark Tower in a very small time frame, which gave her only a short while to make herself somewhat presentable. She froze, she had never, not since she was a little girl, felt the need to make herself presentable to anyone. What was it about The Overlord that dragged her vulnerable side, albeit kicking and screaming, to the surface?

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Sophitia slowly took the stairs up to her room after returning to the Tower. Not after returning from Wolfkrone, but a later trip. The servant girls had insisted that she accompany them on a shopping trip to a town called Heaven's Peak. Erasmus apparently paid all of the girls quite well, as there was no real sense of frugality in the spending. However, given that The Overlord's treasury upstairs was overflowing into the hallway, there was no need to be thrifty. It had been a little bit of an eye opener for her, being immediately respected just because of who she was. And it wasn't just respect; there was also a bit of fear no doubt due to her eyes, at least at first. As time had wore on her gentle manner and easy smile seemed to win over the majority of the people she had met. It was certainly more rewarding than running around the world trying to destroy Soul Edge and likely being forced to kill most everyone she happened to cross paths with.

As she approached the top of the stairs the start of a conversation reached her ears. There were two voices, one was obviously Erasmus, and she thought the other might be Ivy, but the tone seemed just the slightest bit off. However, after a few moments she concluded that she was right. Ivy must have had something on her mind that was seriously disturbing. She stopped, holding herself absolutely still so she could listen.

Ivy's voice carried only the slightest hint of a quiver, otherwise as brash as ever. "I'm going to ask you right up front, what do you want from me?"

Erasmus was obviously a little bit surprised; "**Ah, what?**"

Ivy seemed to get angry, and the hint of a quiver vanished. "Don't play games with me. No one does anything kind or considerate for someone without expecting something in return. So I'll ask you again, what do you want from me?"

The Overlord seemed to get a little bit exasperated in response, and his tone reflected that. "**Ivy, seriously, look around you. What am I lacking that I could possibly desire from you?**" There was a pause, and then Erasmus continued. "**And before your mind heads to the bedroom, consider this. Even before Sophitia moved in I had ten women already as permanent residents. Had I felt like it, I could probably have taken any of them to my bed without a single complaint. So no, I do not need you in that capacity either.**"

Anger seemed to be Ivy's way of coping with confusion, because both notes were clearly there. "Then why? Why help me at all?"

Erasmus laughed, only once, before replying. "**People call it many things, a moral compass, personal ethics, that little voice on your shoulder telling you right from wrong. I however, like to think of it as something I just do.**" There was a moment of silence. "**Go ahead, laugh. The Lord of Evil has an internal voice that compels him to do very un-Evil things on occasion.**"

And Ivy did start to laugh, low at first, more of a chuckle. But as the volume built it became a deeper, almost musical sound that she would never have expected to hear coming from Ivy's mouth. Taking the risk of being discovered, she poked her head around the corner so she could see. Ivy was leaning back against the wall opposite of the door to her own bedroom, eyes closed, and smiling. Up until now the only thing she had seen from the other woman was a sardonic smirk, the smile a torturer gave to their victims before hammering nails into the soft parts of the human body. The simple act of smiling changed Ivy completely from a hardened, cruel person into someone that looked quite approachable, even pleasant.

Ivy kept smiling, and shook her head before looking up ever so slightly at The Overlord. "Right now, I don't whether I should punch you in the jaw..." She chuckled again, "...Or kiss you for making me laugh for the first time in a very long while."

Erasmus had his back to her, so she couldn't see how he reacted, if at all. "**Well, you let me know when you decide on which one. Let me just say that the first option would probably hurt you a lot more than it would me.**"

Ivy pushed herself up off of the wall, still smiling. "I'll keep that in mind." Before Erasmus vanished into his room the other woman called out to him. "One last thing..." Ivy waited until The Overlord was facing her; "...If you like, you can call me by my full name, Isabella."

Erasmus nodded once, slowly. "**I'll keep that in mind, Isabella.**"

She pulled her head back and pressed her back up against the wall behind her, mind working a feverish pace to process everything she had just seen. She knew the face Ivy was making right now, it was one she wore when thinking about Erasmus with the utmost of affection. It meant that if Ivy didn't love The Overlord already, she would soon. In spite of Erasmus's words to her earlier about this exact situation, she wanted Ivy out of the Tower before the break of dawn tomorrow.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Ivy stood on the balcony behind the Portal, staring up into the night sky but not really seeing it. She couldn't sleep, and she was starting to get an inkling as to why. Every single time she had drifted off a dream of The Overlord almost instantly brought her back to the realm of the aware. The fact that she could not get him off of her mind, and that she felt a wisp of something stirring in the void left behind when her adoptive parents both died told her the single most miraculous fact of her entire life. She was in love. For the first time in her life she felt every single gushy feeling that she used to look down on other people for. Especially that disgustingly affectionate couple that kept coming back into the race for the two swords, Xiangua and Killik. She had caught the disease as bad as those two had it for each other, and the wound to her pride was nonexistent. What she did not know, was what to do about it. This feeling had been completely absent from her body for more than twenty years, it was impressive to her that she still remembered what it was called.

A slight sound from behind her, by the Portal, caused her to wheel about with her hand automatically going to the hilt of her sword, "Who..." She saw two angry red eyes in the relative dark and calmed down, slightly. "Oh, it's just you Sophitia." She paused as the blond said nothing in response. "What exactly are you doing down here in the middle of the night?"

Sophitia rounded the Portal and leaned on the railing of the balcony, facing inwards but still looking up. "I could ask you the same thing."

She found herself staring at Sophitia's eyes without meaning to. The overall unnaturalness of the obsidian orbs drew her eyes to the other pair like a moth to a flame. In the dim light, she thought she could catch just the slightest glow from the blood red irises, but it could have been a figment of her imagination.

Sophitia lowered her gaze and caught the stare, remarking matter-of-factly; "It's the eyes, right?" She nodded once before the blond turned her gaze towards the heavens again. "They are a 'gift' I suppose you could say, from the Tower Heart downstairs in the Spawning Pits. Lately, I've begun to wonder if it gave me something else as well."

She was rather surprised that Sophitia was being so open with her. "What else do you think it gave you?"

The blond kept looking up while speaking. "Precognition. I'm seeing things a few seconds before they happen when it could cause me, or someone close to me, harm. It's spotty at the moment though, comes and goes."

She felt her eyes widen ever so slightly. "Still, sometimes is better than nothing. It almost makes me want to go and touch this Tower Heart myself."

Sophitia looked down and met her eyes, a smirk playing across her face. "Somehow I don't think that the Tower Heart would find you 'good' enough to constitute a threat."

A short laugh escaped her. "You're probably right. I'm about as corrupted as they come, considering who my father is."

Sophitia frowned, before leading into the obvious question. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but who is your father?"

She clicked her tongue once against her teeth before responding. "And I'm amazed that I even mentioned it. You've probably already met him, multiple times. Cervantes de'Leon, the Immortal Pirate."

The blonde's red eyes went wide, and she could have sworn that the phantom glow she kept imagining flashed brighter for a moment as well. "He's, I, I am so sorry."

She crossed her arms and leaned on the railing next to the blond, looking out over The Overlord's domain. "Don't be, I'll kill him one of these days. And if I don't, The Overlord will seeing as they have conflicting goals." A long moment of silence passed before she rekindled the conversation. "So, how exactly did you get here in the first place?"

Sophitia smiled and shook her head. "Not much different than how you arrived actually. The Overlord found me near the coast of Wolfkrone while I was fleeing from the soldiers, we fought, he won."

She commented, with a bit of a teasing barb mixed in. "And I'm supposed to be surprised by that fact?"

The blond smirked, and shot back a barb of her own. "At least I lasted a bit longer than you did. The Overlord disarmed you in three exchanges." Sophitia shook her head and continued the story. "Anyways, he used some magic to force me to tell him about Soul Edge, where it was and such things. Then he let me go. A short time later he comes sprinting through the forest ahead of the same army that had been chasing me; he scooped me up and carried me the rest of the way. After he used more magic to slaughter the majority of the soldiers he brought me here. At the time I considered myself little more than a prisoner, so I escaped through the Portal until he eventually rescued me from the mess I got myself into."

She thought the majority of the tale unremarkable, just The Overlord doing what he was best at for the entire stretch. But she could tell from the amount of reverence in her voice that Sophitia was deeply in love with The Overlord. As if the entire Tower quaking to their act of love-making wasn't an obvious enough sign. She didn't really know how to take that, the knowledge that another woman was already that involved with the man she herself was falling for.

Lacking the proper response, she went with something that sounded reasonable. "You activated the Portal yourself? I thought only The Overlord could do that."

Sophitia smiled and pushed herself away from the balcony. "No, it's actually rather easy." The blond gestured to the pool of water. "I could show you if you like."

She nodded to show her approval. "I think I would like that."

Odd as it was considering their vastly different backgrounds, she almost felt a bond of kinship with the former holy warrior. Something far closer to a friend, which was also a foreign concept to her, than real kinship however. As things were, the only explanation she could come up with was that something about The Overlord's magic was making her feel heavily inclined to get along with Sophitia regardless of her personal feelings on the subject, this thought was in the back of her mind though and quickly faded away.

The blond knelt by the Portal and gently tapped the water once. "That's about it; now all you have to do is slide your fingers across the water to the left or right to pick where you want to go."

She knelt as well to, literally, try her hand at using the Portal. It was rather amusing to her that operating a magical thing like this was really this simple; a five-year old child could do this. With a simple twitch of her finger she changed the destination from an open, sun-dappled hill side to a stand of barren sand, from a stalwart mountain peak to a dreary forest swamp, it was incredible.

She gestured to the forest with her free hand. "Where exactly is this?"

There was a palpable shift in the atmosphere, from friendly to hostile inside of a second. The same could be said of Sophitia's voice. "I don't know, but you'll soon find out."

That was all the warning she received before a strike to her back sent her headfirst into the Portal.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Sophitia felt her breath coming to her in harsh gasps, like she had just run over a hundred miles. She knew that she had followed Ivy down here with the express purpose of getting the silver-haired woman out of the Tower, but after that long and honestly heart-to-heart talk they had had she had started to think that she could bear to live with what might happen. Then, when the opportunity presented itself as it had, an image had flashed through her head of Erasmus and Ivy intertwined beneath a set of sheets while all she could do was watch, isolated. It had been too much for her to stomach. She really didn't even know where she had sent the other woman, if it was perilous or not, or if Ivy would somehow survive and return enraged.

Evernight Forest: Two hours later

Ivy trudged her agonizingly slow way through the thick greenery, trying not to crack her head open on the branches that seemed to materialize out of the bushes inches from her face. She was already dazed from landing on her head when she emerged from the Portal, partner that with the anger she felt towards Sophitia for that sudden blindside and she wasn't thinking at all.

Something sharp pricked her ankle and she slashed at it with her sword. The blade hit something hard and chitinous, before sliding off. When she looked, a large green beetle the size of her entire head scuttled away into the bushes with a large dent in its carapace. A few moments later another stabbing pain hit her from the other side and she missed when she swung at the pest. With the thick foliage she could barely see, so she eventually gave up and just ignored the continual pricks on her heels. Slowly, her ankles went numb, and she started to get the feeling that the beetles carried some kind of poison. That would explain why none of them had tried to physically bring her down; they were just waiting for her to be too weak to fight back. Fury pushed her onwards; she refused to be brought to her knees by a collection of simple-minded insects. Ahead, she saw a light and instinctively made her way towards it. Her legs grew numb, and she was forced to look down to confirm where she was putting her feet. Her torso grew numb, and she had to use the surrounding trees to keep from falling over. Her arms grew numb, and she toppled over forward, physically incapable of taking a single step. She barely registered the feeling of downy soft grass on her cheek before the numbness took over completely.

Dark Tower: Two days later

Sophitia couldn't take it anymore. It was far too soon since she had gotten over the guilt of losing her family for her to be burdened with the knowledge that she sent someone to their death because of her possessiveness towards Erasmus. Especially someone that she had, for at least a moment, felt a flicker of kinship with. Ivy didn't deserve death no matter what might happen between the other woman and Erasmus. On the topic of her beloved, Erasmus had almost brushed off the news that Ivy had vanished in the middle of the night. That in and of itself was odd, but she hadn't been complaining about the apparent lack of interest.

She approached Erasmus as he sat upon his throne, where he appeared to be deep in thought; "Darling, I-"

Erasmus cut her off without even looking in her direction. "**You finally came to confess to shoving Ivy through the Portal?**"

Having herself cut off with her own admission from someone else's mouth was disconcerting enough. Hearing it from The Overlord was downright frightening. The only thing she could bring herself to say was rather painfully cliché. "How did you know?"

Erasmus smoothly stood, turned to her, and sat on the armrest of the throne. "**Sophitia, dear, do not take this the wrong way, but you are almost as transparent as the glassware in your bedroom. Which is fine, you wear your heart on your sleeve, but really, I thought I had put you at ease earlier when we talked.**"

All she could manage was a helpless shrug, as she felt saying anything else would just make her sound foolish.

Erasmus sighed and pulled her in closer, gently setting her forehead against the front of his great helm. "**Well, at least I know your heart was in the right place, even if you overreacted by a small margin.**"

She pulled away and shook her head. "A 'small margin?' I sent Ivy off to die."

Erasmus then shocked her by starting to laugh. "**Had you sent Ivy to the Golden Hills I might agree with you, but Evernight Forest is hardly the place where you can send anything to its death. Don't fret, the elves found Ivy after only three hours, she's fine.**"

She set her lips in a firm line, not even bothering to question the concept of elves. "And you knew that all along, yet you still let me beat myself up over it?" She shook her head, and let out a short laugh as the irony of the situation hit her. "You're lucky that I love you, otherwise…"

The Overlord stood; "**I'll keep that in mind, but hopefully this won't happen again. If so, I'll never have to find out the meaning of the word 'otherwise.**"

Erasmus headed for the Portal, and she marveled to herself how he had turned a reprimand into a compliment, then into a joke.

Evernight Forest: Elf Village

Ivy slowly opened her eyes, and squinted against the glare, the very fact that she wasn't dead a welcome enough thing to keep her calm for a moment.

A voice spoke, gently admonishing her. "Careful, watch your head."

She promptly ignored that advice and roughly shoved herself up, just as promptly cracking her head against a wooden beam that couldn't have been higher off the ground than the top of her hips when she was standing.

She commented on her observation while clutching her forehead with both hands. "What sense is there in putting a bed in when you can't even sit up?"

The same voice as before responded, in an almost too calm manner. "When the bed in question is meant for a child instead of an adult."

She struggled to put a face to the voice and stared into the glaring light as part of said effort. Slowly, as her eyes grew used to the intense illumination, a face that could both be described as beautiful and disturbing came into focus. She assumed that she was looking at a woman, but to be fair they could simply be an extremely effeminate man. A half-second glance down at the chest area solved the riddle for her, the person, or whatever, was female. Most of the features of the woman's face seemed relatively normal, with the exception that every one of those features looked more fragile by an order of magnitude. The single most striking thing she noticed was that there were pointed ears on both sides of the woman's head. So striking in fact, that she was staring in a way that would be considered quite rude by most people.

Apparently, the woman she was staring at counted among the category 'most people.' "What exactly are you looking at? Have you never seen an elf before?"

She felt her face contort out of skepticism, but that could have been a headache from whacking her head against the beam. "No, should I have?"

The 'elf' woman's mouth twisted in a grimace that still managed to look dainty. "Point taken, we still are very few in number."

The comment was baited, and after a moment's deliberation she took it. "Ok, I'll bite, why are you 'elves' so few in number?"

The grimace was instantly replaced by an expression that you would expect to find on a particularly devout priest, where the term 'faithful' was not so accurate as the word 'zealot.' "Up until recently we were, the rest of the elven women and I, the prisoners of the dwarf king, Goldo Goldenson. The Overlord…"

She stopped listening at the mention of The Overlord for two reasons. One, if The Overlord was involved the tale was only going to end one way, with Goldo dead. Two, there was this little whisper just on the edge of her hearing that was pulling her attention like an angler would a particularly heavy fish. There were no words she could make out, but it carried with it a feeling of duality; serene and savage, beautiful and terrible. Try as she might she simply could not ignore it.

The elven woman started to finish the story. "…And The Overlord stuck his sword through Goldo's head!"

She commented on the, to her, obvious ending, her voice dripping with enough sarcasm to poison an entire city. "Oh wow, I didn't see that coming at all."

The elf obviously didn't get sarcasm. "Oh I know, no one had ever thought he could defeat Goldo's warbeast, but he did easily!" The amount of excitement went up to a disturbing level. "And the best part is that The Overlord made a conscious choice to save my fellow elven women and me, but to do so he had to pass up the personal gold hoard of a dwarf king!"

A flap on the hut opened and the light actually dimmed. This was accompanied by a voice that could only belong to one person. "**Regaling my guest with tales of my former conquests, are we Enyala?**"

The elf reacted as quickly as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning. "Oh, only the story about you killing King Goldo, my lord! She just woke up, impeccable timing as always my lord."

A sigh escaped from within the mighty helmet. "**Enyala, what have I told you and the other elves about the flattery? Don't keep doing it.**" The Overlord turned his golden eyes upon her; "**Now…**" A note of suspicion entered The Overlord's voice, which made her feel uneasy. "**Enyala, the messenger neglected to mention this. Was I supposed to wait until now before hearing-**"

Enyala's eyes went as wide as dinner plates and her hands started waving through the air in a gesture of harmlessness. "I'm sorry sire! It, it didn't happen right away and-"

She cut the elf off. "Ok, what is 'it?' Don't talk about me like I'm not even here."

Enyala started talking slowly, like you would expect to hear someone to talk in the presence of a violent psychopath. "We, that is to say the elves, have never used our medicine on humans before. It, ah, did something extra after clearing the poison-"

She shifted around until she was kneeling in the small hut, barely brushing the beams with the top of her head. "Spit it out, what 'extra' did your medicine do?"

While Enyala cowered under her glare, The Overlord stuck one of his arms into the hut and subtly pointed to the elf woman's ears. She was skeptical, but given The Overlord's perfect history of being honest with her there really wasn't much reason for her to be, other than she didn't want to believe him. Taking the hint, she felt for the top of her ears and found them about two inches away from where they had been before. Thankfully most of them could be hidden underneath her hair, but the very fact that she had elf ears was enough to almost make her strangle Enyala on the spot.

She made her anger quite obvious, closing the meager distance between herself and Enyala even more. "You, why I ought to-"

The Overlord reached over and seized her extended wrist. "**Ok then, we will be leaving now. Enyala, thank you and the other elves for bringing Isabella back safely. I'm sure she'll thank you herself at a later date.**" The Overlord physically dragged her out of the hut and tucked her waist under his arm without so much as letting her feet touch the ground. "**As a token of my appreciation, I'll waive the tithe for this month, farewell.**"

She struggled against the unyielding metal embrace, full knowing that it was a futile endeavor. "You can't do this to me you-"

The Overlord cut her off once he had left the boundaries of the village. "**Can't I? Please, remember who you're talking to.**"

As usual, The Overlord was going to get his way. Knowing this, she stopped struggling and just waited. Eventually he was going to put her down, for one reason or another.

After about thirty paces into the forest, along the clearly defined path, The Overlord set her back on her feet. "**You are aware why we made such a hasty exit?**"

She sighed; "You wanted to get me out of there before I killed most of the elves in a murderous frenzy."

The Overlord nodded once, "**Exactly. If you still feel the need to brutally murder elves, there are plenty of them in the Dungeon for you to perform whatever horrors you wish.**" The Overlord gave her a slight nudge forward with his hip. "**Now come on, Sophitia has been beating her head against the wall for two days over kicking you through the Portal.**"

A sneer twisted her mouth. "Really? And you just happened to know the whole time where I was?"

The Overlord shrugged; "**I had to let her mull it over for a little bit. I do love her, but what she did to you was wrong. Besides, it's not like she sent you anywhere particularly dangerous. Here in Evernight the only thing you need to worry about is the occasional…**" A heavy thud preceded a quake that threw her to the ground. "**… troll.**"

She sprang to her feet and beheld the most hideous thing she had seen in her life, and she had crossed paths with Voldo before. The creature waddling its way down the path towards The Overlord and her was almost unbelievably fat, and every flap of the bloated green flesh bounced with every step. The pair of tiny eyes in the small head seemed glazed over, and a cloying odor of rotten flesh mixed with feces hit her with the force of a charging bull. It was all she could do to not vomit up everything she had ever eaten.

She drew her blade, ignoring what The Overlord had just said about trolls being the only thing he worried about in Evernight. It was high time that this forest learned that she was not a woman to be trifled with, and if this flabby monstrosity wanted a bite out of her she was going to make sure that it didn't have a mouth to use. To that end she extended her blade and looped it around the troll's neck, before giving the bladed whip a violent yank that sent spurts of translucent green blood flying all over the narrow forest path. However, much to her surprise, the troll's head stayed right where it was and the beast simply kept advancing like nothing had happened at all. Enraged by the futility, she attacked again, and again, each lash sending vast quantities of troll blood flying around the path but not hindering the walking blob in the least.

The Overlord barked a command at her. "**Isabella! Back away from the troll, now!**"

Unable to ignore the voice she turned towards the sound to find The Overlord standing a few paces back down the path towards the elf village. Were trolls really dangerous enough to cause a man as powerful as The Overlord to retreat? While she was looking the other way a flabby fist landed a solid hook to the side of her stomach, sending her crashing against a large tree slightly off the side of the path. She was dazed, but she retained enough presence of mind to watch the obese monstrosity draw nearer, almost mocking her with the languid pace of approach. A thought flickered through her mind, that she was about to die because of her foolish pride, and she silently cried out for help for anything to stave off this horribly ignominious end. A few moments passed, and then a low groan filled the air that could only have come from the troll.

She looked up, and beheld the troll that was now trapped in a net of constricting, thorny vines that were slowly tightening around the doomed animal. The thorns were the color of blood, but deeper, more vibrant. The vines themselves were a poisonous, attention-demanding shade of green that seemed to glow with delight at the little pitiful moans from the captive troll. As she watched, the troll made one last effort to escape and roared in defiance at the greenery. The instant the troll opened its mouth more vines snaked down its throat, moments later emerging from the tiny ears on the sides of the corpse's head. Had the animal not been trying to kill her, she might have even felt a smidgeon of pity.

A metal gauntlet grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her to her feet before the owner of said gauntlet commented on the twitching thing in front of them both. "**I must say, that is one of the most brutal ways I have ever seen something die.**" The Overlord lightly cuffed her on the back of the head. "**That's for almost getting yourself killed. Look up, and to your right.**"

She obliged, and a dozen or so little green faces were staring down at her with barely contained aggression. What had she heard them called before, minions? These particular ones had a set of long metal spikes attached to each wrist, perfectly suited for stabbing something repeatedly.

The Overlord confirmed her thoughts. "**Had you only taken three steps back the troll would have been dead before you could blink.**" A sigh issued from the crowned helmet. "**Still, I suppose if you hadn't been so stubborn we might not have known about the little perk that mishap with elven medicine seems to have granted you.**" At the prompting of her clueless gaze, The Overlord elaborated. "**All elves have an innate connection to all things green and growing, you obviously do not or else everything around you would have sprung to your aid, but you do seem to have earned the attention of this one plant, the alraune, the death rose. I find something Evily poetic about that, don't you?**"

She groaned in exasperation. "Let's just go back to the damn Tower. I've had enough of this forest to last me a lifetime."

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Sophitia was making a beeline towards Ivy's room, hearing that the other woman was back only moments earlier from Heather. She didn't know if Ivy would be open to an apology, or if the silver-haired woman would want to physically tear her blond head from her shoulders, but whatever consequences there might be she had to get this weight off of her chest. She tested the door, found it open, and went inside. Inside the chamber, that was almost the polar opposite of her room only two doors away, Ivy was lying on a couch wrapped in a black blanket with her face looking away from the door.

Before she could open her mouth Ivy beat her to the first word. "Stop, don't say anything. I don't want to hear it."

Her mouth shut with an audible click, then opened again and spilled her thoughts anyways. "I'm sorry for pushing you through the Portal. I was being overly possessive of Erasmus and I don't have the right to-

Ivy rolled over and unfurled herself from the blanket, revealing that she was wearing nothing more than the bottom half of a slinky set of undergarments. "Look, I said I didn't want to hear it because I get where you were coming from. Had I been in your position, I would have kicked me through the Portal as well. The Overlord is a decent man, the first I've knowingly met, and I'm feeling possessive of him already. But, I know that you aren't going anywhere and I've accepted that."

Ivy's mostly-naked state was making her feel rather embarrassed, and uncomfortable. "Well, ah, that's very good to know. Um, I, I think I'll just be on my way now."

Ivy caught her by the shoulder as she was walking away. "I don't see what you're getting so flustered about. It's not like you're only going to see The Overlord when we're all in bed."

A shock traveled up and down the length of her spine and forced it to become ramrod straight, "We?"

Ivy turned her around and smirked. "What? You didn't think I was going to let you and The Overlord have all the fun by yourselves, did you?"

Wolfkrone Wilderness:

Taki sat high up on a ledge overlooking the remnants of the great battle she had attempted to intervene in. By now, the dead had been taken care of, leaving the battlefield strewn with other remains, lost weapons, pieces of broken steel that had once been armor, pools of congealed blood. All that was left a grim reminder of what she was up against, well, the single most important element she was up against. This Overlord, whoever, or whatever he was, ruin followed him as surely as night followed day. He could not be allowed to acquire Soul Edge, for if he did the results could be cataclysmic for the entire world.

She took her mind away from her musings and focused on the rudimentary first aid she was performing. She had not been surprised that Sophitia had become stronger with the aid of her new benefactor, but the degree to which that strength had grown was impressive. Not that she thought the former holy warrior knew it. The sharp boost in power had only emerged under duress, if she wanted to call her attempt to reach the better half of Sophitia duress. Regardless, she had a few broken ribs to deal with, and she couldn't fight or move properly with jagged shards of bone jabbing her insides whenever she moved a single muscle the wrong way.

She put the handle of Mekkimaru in her mouth and bit down hard, mentally bracing herself even as she prepared to cinch the bandages tight enough to choke a small child. With a muffled cry of pain, and a few tears from the same source, she gave the ends of the knot a harsh pull. In a moment, when the red haze of pain faded, she took the time to examine her handiwork, noting the contrast between the fire-blackened bandages and her exceptionally pale skin. There were reasons for that, like how she never traveled by day unless she had no other choice, and if she did it was always hooded and cloaked. Then there was the fact that she conducted most of her 'work' in the dark as well. On the subject of her work, she was reminded of the Fu-ma ninja clan that she had left behind, of Toki, her foster father. She missed them, and there was no way she could lie to herself about that. But Toki was gone, his mind poisoned by Soul Edge, and the clan desired her life in repentance. She would be alone for the rest of her life, and she accepted that, but she would purge all evil from the world before her time came, and on the morrow, she would start with The Overlord.


	8. Hounding the Darkness

Chapter 8: Hounding the Darkness

Dark Tower: Throne Room

The Overlord sat on his throne, smiling to himself as he watched both Sophitia and Isabella chatting at the far end of the hall. From here he couldn't hear what they were saying, but from the expressions on their faces it at least looked pleasant. He was glad that the two of them had finally come to an accord, whatever that might be was between them. Not only would such an arrangement keep the peace in the Tower, it gave him peace of mind that he wouldn't have to continually warp all over his domain trying to save his Mistresses when they kicked each other through the Portal. And yes, he did consider Isabella a permanent part of the Dark Tower by now. She wasn't nearly as sweet as Sophitia, quite the opposite in fact, but he could appreciate Isabella's slight lack of inhibitions. In a way, she reminded him a bit of Velvet, but that was an old, well-healed wound by now so it didn't bother him to make the comparison. It was then an amusing twist of fate that Isabella was now sleeping in Velvet's old bedroom.

Regardless, he had work to do. He had arranged a symbolic expedition of Wolfkrone soldiers to guide him to Ostrhinsburg. It was symbolic because he had no need of the men for combat purposes. With the construction of the Tower Gate in the Wolfkrone Castle and the surrounding Minion Gates, he could finally field his minions in the other world. Still, when he went out he would need to exercise more caution with his minion lives than he usually did because there wouldn't be any Minion Gates out around the other world unless he was extraordinarily lucky. So, perhaps he would substitute two Blues for Reds is the name of survivability.

But first, he still had the time to go down to the Dungeon and check on his VIP prisoner. As he rose from his throne he tried to remember the different varieties of torture that he had been putting the fallen monarch through for the past few days, and it warmed his black heart that he couldn't even remember all of them. Ironically, it was thanks to his Blue minions that he could inflict pain so effectively. He could rip the arms off of someone by using the rack and the Blues would simply wave their hands, reattach the limbs, and he could start all over again. He had done that to Jewel the Thief twenty times in a row before putting her out of her misery, and thinking about the sound of tearing flesh sent a minor rush through his blood. Sophitia would probably be sickened by watching him enjoy this aspect of his title, but he got the feeling Isabella would be able to appreciate it, if not enjoy doing it herself.

He arrived in the torture chamber and spotted the sole occupant almost immediately. Hildegard was currently hanging by her thumbs, with the bottom of her feet dangling inches over a pot of molten metal slag from the Forge, and was being whipped with a bone tipped lash that was taking small chunks out of her back with every swing. He could hear Hildegard screaming from all the way over at the entrance, but something just seemed, off. Something that he just couldn't put his finger on was out of place.

A slight finger twitch summoned his torture master, a Green that called itself, unimaginatively, Claw, to his side. The minion immediately started complaining; "Wolf lady not screaming right! She scream, but not right scream! Claw no like wolf lady anymore."

Confused, and not a little bit curious, he started to close the distance between himself and the suspended Hildegard. When he reached the floor, he realized that what he was hearing was not the absence of something, but something extra. The sound of pain was quite clear, and if it hadn't he would have become rather leery of Hildegard's mental state, so that was normal. What he heard on top of that was an almost orgasmic level of ecstasy. Hearing that from a victim was the death knell of a torturer's career, and took all the fun out of what he had planned for the fallen queen.

Claw started to tug on the top of his left greave. "Can Claw kill wolf lady now?"

He took a moment to consider his options. Of course, he could just kill her and save the deliberation altogether. But he had made it as far as he had by not throwing away what he could use, like the large jar deep in the Spawning Pits that contained the rest of the plague that a succubus queen had unleashed upon the town of Heaven's Peak a while ago. He seriously doubted that he would ever use it due to the unbelievable amount of time he would have to spend cleaning it up afterwards, but it was always something he could dangle over the head of a potentially hostile enemy state. He supposed he could always just toss Hildegard in with the rest of the serving girls, but if there was anything left of the Hildegard he had fought within this pain obsessed shell she'd likely try to poison the food. That made him lean towards sticking his sword through her stomach. Then an idea hit him, one that would get Hildegard off of his hands, and doing something that a certain someone else might consider useful.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Sophitia was actually finding herself quite glad that Ivy was staying, finding out only now just how utterly empty the Dark Tower was whenever Erasmus left. The minions were a mild source of entertainment, but one could only watch so much lunacy before it started to grate on one's nerves. The serving girls were all quite nice, but she would grudgingly admit that they were a bit dim-witted, especially Sarah. And there was only so much she could do in the Dungeon on any given day to keep her skills sharp. Gnarl was no help at all, between the lewd suggestions for her to go mud wrestling with the serving girls and the nonsensical ramblings about Evil deeds to be done she could hardly stand the old creature. She actually occasionally found herself wishing, between the pulses of a headache brought on by Gnarl's voice, that Erasmus had left the old minion dead when the flying lance impaled him. Ivy's singular presence allowed her the opportunity for intelligent conversation, and a partner in the Dungeon on occasion. Speaking of the Dungeon, her beloved was coming up the stairs from that pit right now.

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards; "Business or pleasure?"

'Pleasure' in the dungeon amounted to the senseless slaughter of massive numbers of prisoners. She was starting to actually appreciate where Erasmus came from when it came to the violence, particularly when it was in reference to the Halflings. Those little blobs were perverse on top of hideous. She had lost track of one of them during her last bought and the little, the little cretin had dropped its weapons and placed its flabby hands on her rear end. She knew that she was often magnanimous to a fault, but that manner of touching she reserved for Erasmus, and woe to anyone who tried anything to the contrary. 'Business' would probably be in regards to Hildegard. She still felt bad about the continual torture, but she had to consciously think about the predicament of the fallen queen to even remember it.

The Overlord twisted his head far enough around to the right to crack it. "**Business. Checking on how Hildegard was faring under the torture. I haven't even gotten around to utilizing the iron maiden yet.**"

Ivy chipped in on the discussion, sounding just a little bit excited. "And, how exactly was the queen dealing with it?"

Erasmus shook his head, and she could have sworn that somehow, beneath all of the arcanium armor, The Overlord managed to shudder. "**I'll get to that, but first…**" Erasmus's left hand came up and presented the end of a black chain. "**I've got a present for you Isabella.**"

Ivy blinked rapidly a few times. "Ah, this is a bit unexpected."

There was no doubt, The Overlord shuddered. "**Oh, believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are.**" Erasmus gave the chain a quick jerk and hauled Hildegard into view. "**Isabella, I'd like you to meet your very own personal slave. Do whatever, and I mean whatever, you like to her short of death and she's going to enjoy it. Provided of course that it involves pain, her pain.**"

Ivy knelt to put herself at eye level with Hildegard's face, but that was unnecessary to see that Hildegard's eyes were glazed over, with nothing left of the defiant spark that she had seen a year ago. Before she had felt that continual torture was a horrible existence, which paled in comparison to this new reality.

Ivy chuckled and prodded Hildegard in the shoulder with the point of her sword. "So, you inflicted enough pain to turn the proud queen into a depraved masochist. I suppose that took the fun out of it for you?"

The Overlord nodded and tossed the end of the chain to Ivy. "**You have no idea. Now please, take her off of my hands. I have an appointment to keep with my new subjects.**"

Without waiting for an answer, Erasmus spun on his heel and hopped through the Portal in one smooth motion. She turned her head back to look at Ivy. The other woman was currently staring intently at Hildegard's glazed over face, a malicious smile slowly spreading across Ivy's full lips. She was struck by the notion that perhaps Ivy was a little too much of a perfect fit for the role of Evil mistress, but she immediately dismissed it.

Wolfkrone Capitol: Castle Gates

Taki stared up the steps at the impressive spires of the Wolfkrone castle. The white towers a sign of pride, of dedication to order. It was a sad thing then that the kingdom should fall to an evil that so quickly usurped and corrupted everything in its path. The whisperings in the crowd had told her that 'The Overlord' would be departing the keep with a token force of soldiers to guide him to the city of Ostrhinsnburg. The 'token force' part told her that this 'Overlord' was the epitome of arrogant. After all, one couldn't expect there to not be a single person in all of Wolfkrone that wasn't happy with the new royalty arrangement, and the odds of such people banding together to attack while he was en route were almost overwhelming. Still, she shouldn't be complaining. The fewer soldiers that there were meant that there were fewer men she would have to elude before and after doing the deed, if they would even bother to try and stop her.

The gates cracked open and she sank deeper into the crowd that had gathered, confident that her hood and cloak would keep the majority of attention elsewhere in the throng of tired peasants. After all, there were quite a few people here, drawn by the same rumor that had brought her. To the soldiers, and to The Overlord, she would be just another downtrodden soul that wasn't worthy of notice, at least in theory. There was always the possibility that The Overlord was obsessively paranoid, or simply very perceptive. The soldiers in attendance saluted as The Overlord walked out of the castle, and her sympathy for the men fell to almost zero. That they would so easily sell their honor for survival was not something she could easily condone, especially to the second embodiment of evil that this world had to deal with.

In the comparatively calm setting she had the opportunity to size up her target like she hadn't been able to before her rushed attempt to murder him on the battlefield. First, she was hit with the realization that her target was physically huge, rivaling the Black Giant in stature. Second, his movements were heavy, but graceful, an analogy popped into her head of a dancer that obsessively lifted weights. Third and last, there was a palpable miasma of darkness that she could feel even as far away as she was. Perhaps the most distressing realization came when she realized that the considerable numbers of wards that she had placed upon her armor were doing absolutely nothing to combat the influence of whatever magic given off by The Overlord was trying to accomplish. In light of that fact she made a mental note to severely monitor her own thoughts while in pursuit of this target.

Speaking of her target, The Overlord had not moved from just outside the gates. He was just standing there, arms crossed over his chest, slowly sweeping his gaze back and forth over the crowd. It was unnerving when his gaze passed over her, but that was normal. After all, she wasn't really invisible standing in plain sight in the middle of a crowd, but that was the beauty of the trick. The Overlord seemed to be satisfied with his survey, but as the giant started to move forward a group of, she could find no other word to describe them, goblins flooded out of the gates behind him in a loose triangle. The crowd gasped in fear and backed away, she was perhaps half a second slow in mimicking them. The goblins were each one of four colors; red, green, blue, or brown, but beyond that she could find no obvious differences except in armaments. The Overlord walked by where she was standing, sandwiched between the Wolfkrone soldiers in front and the goblins in back. She watched, slowly moving through the crowd to keep her target within sight. There wasn't going to be an opportunity to kill him in the city, of that she was certain, so she would have to act at some point between here and Ostrhinesburg. Without warning The Overlord's head snapped up and the giant spun on his heel to lock eyes directly with her.

She froze, but the crowd parted around her like The Overlord's gaze was a deadly beam. There was an almost overpowering urge to draw her blades, but she fought that notion until The Overlord pointed directly at her, sending the green goblins scuttling straight at her, long claws glittering wickedly in the sunlight, hissing like serpents. Left with no other option she turned to run, but in her way. With three deft leaps she reached the rooftops of the buildings directly behind her before casting a glance back towards her target, now hunter. She was shocked to discover that the green goblins were still in pursuit, mimicking her leap for leap. As she was not interested in a pitched battle this early in the hunt she turned to run, fleeing across the rooftops running parallel with the street below.

She ran, occasionally throwing a glance over her shoulder to confirm that the goblins were still there, sometimes drawing closer, and sometimes she would pull away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something glow, and a fraction of a second later she was thrown by the explosion of a fireball impacting and fracturing her wards. She was down for, at most, two seconds, but that short delay allowed one of the goblins to get within striking distance. As she ran the creature threw itself forward through the air with speed that even she found mildly impressive, and attached itself to her back.

The extra weight staggered her, and the little creature hissed in her ear. "Hush must stab, stab sneaky lady!"

Thanks to the verbal warning she was able to twist herself out of the way of the worst of the attack, but she was still left with two long, thin lines horizontally across her back. Taking advantage of the momentary loss of balance she reached up and grabbed the goblin by the head, flinging it off to the side so she could keep running. While she did this she noticed that she was also being followed at street level. The Overlord was easily keeping pace with her despite the congested city streets, either bulling through obstructions or jumping over them. It was a little bit daunting to see something that heavily armored move just as fast as she did with minimal armor, but she shouldn't have to engage in a face to face confrontation unless all else failed. Already, contingency plans were swirling through her head, even if now probably wasn't the best time to be thinking about them.

A quick check of her surroundings revealed that she was close to the city wall, and an idea hit her that said wall might be the perfect opportunity for an escape. There was a thick, apparently sturdy rope suspended between the top of the wall and a nearby building so she made her way towards it, running with a newfound sense of purpose. Even a seasoned tightrope walker would be skeptical of sprinting across a suspended line, but not her. She ran across full tilt without even a moment of hesitation to reach the outer wall. However, compounding her already poor luck, soldiers flooded up the towers to either side of her and fenced her in. A stalemate ensued, neither band of soldiers willing to advance for fear of her martial talents. Truth be told she would probably have been gutted after only killing twenty or so, but people on this side of the world attached serious amounts of mysticism to her kind that often came in handy.

That was when The Overlord crested the stairs to her right, parting the line of soldiers and standing a respectful distance away, blade drawn. For a long while there were no words thrown between the two of them, she just huddled against the edge of the outside wall staring back into The Overlord's golden eyes. She was suffering from the disconcerting notion that the giant in front of her was undressing her with his eyes. From long experience she knew that it was a frequently employed tactic against women to make them feel vulnerable, but it only worked when the one doing the undressing held a significant advantage over the woman. And she was unwilling to admit it, but she did feel uncomfortable, whether that was due to The Overlord's stare or the fifty or so soldiers plus goblins that were fencing her in was up for debate.

Without changing stance The Overlord took a step forward and spoke. "**Taki, I presume? I've heard quite a bit about you, and your recent fixation on eliminating me.**"

Not having heard The Overlord speak before she was a little at a loss for words. She was reminded of several demons that she had slain before she had become absorbed in the chase for Soul Edge. The voice carried the same dominating presence, but had the extra impact to come from a tangible, living being. Add in the beguiling power and imposing physical stature and it added up to a very impressive package. A tiny voice in the back of her head whispered that it would be a crying shame to kill him, but she quickly clamped down on that notion.

She allowed her hands to drift towards her blades while she tried to think of a way out. "You hear that from the blond bit of fluff that fawns over you?"

A corner of The Overlord's left eye twitched upward."**Now is that really necessary? Sophitia is both beautiful, and blond, but she's hardly stupid.**"

She decided to play the little verbal game. "Well, she fell for you. That was fairly stupid of her."

The Overlord's eyes narrowed. "**And how exactly do you think yourself in a position to make that accusation? You've never seriously spoken with Sophitia, so she said quite clearly, and all you know about me is my Evil predisposition.**"

The only escape option was now clear in her mind, and she didn't like it. But she vaulted up to the top of the wall anyway.

The Overlord apparently knew what she was planning, and commented upon it. "**That's going to hurt quite a bit, you do know that I assume?**"

She smirked without responding, spread her arms, and dove off of the top of the wall into the moat far below.

Wolfkrone Capitol: Outer Wall

The Overlord passively watched the assassin dive off of the wall, not bothering to do the cliché thing and rush to see whether or not she survived. He took his time walking to the edge and, as expected, Taki was gone by the time he peered over the edge. He would be seeing her again soon, of that he was quite sure. He felt that he had gotten a reasonable read of Taki's character and deduced that she wasn't the type to give up easily. If anything, this first failure would only push her to try harder and more elaborate methods. Things could get interesting fairly quickly with that in his future, both for him and the assassin. Elaborate methods could swing both ways, either becoming a resounding success, or a colossal failure at the slightest mistake. Who knows, maybe Taki would pull off the impossible and kill him, only time would tell. He was certain of one thing though, he would be closely watching every single shadow from here all the way to Ostrhinesburg.

Wolfkrone Wilderness:

Taki knelt on one of the high branches of a tree overlooking the causeway, clutching at her broken ribs and her head. The dive had hurt, just as The Overlord had said it would, but she had known that full well before jumping. Still, no amount of pain was going to stop her. There was simply too much at risk for the entire world for her to stop now from a few bumps and scrapes. She knew she was kidding herself, and that she was not working at her best. On the topic of kidding herself, the thought occurred to her that perhaps she was being a bit arrogant by assuming that the entire world would go up in flames without her intervention, but she dismissed the notion almost immediately as an influence of the evil magic surrounding The Overlord.

Regardless, she had a plan now, one that shouldn't stress her waning physical condition overmuch. In fact all that it would require was a strong set of lungs, and so far as she could tell hers were in perfect working order. But here wasn't the place; The Overlord would be far too alert right after her last attempt. Deeper in the forest though, one the road, he would be completely exposed.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Sophitia was attempting to take the stairs one at a time, while at the same time trying to quell her restless worries. Erasmus had taken the time to inform her of Taki's most recent attempt on his life, and she had put on a brave face and smiled, while she wanted to reach out across the void and drag him back to the Tower. She couldn't help it; Erasmus was the only thing she truly had to hold on to. Without him, she might as well be dead, and probably would be within a few days if he did for some inexplicable reason die. Right now, she was doing what she considered the courteous thing and letting Ivy know what was going on with The Overlord. Her fellow Mistress hadn't set foot downstairs for hours, not since Erasmus had gifted Hildegard to her. She really didn't want to think about what Ivy could be doing, but that didn't stop her head from coming up with ideas.

She paused outside Ivy's door for a moment, and eventually mustered the nerve to knock. "Ivy? Do you have a minute?"

There were a few moments of muffled noise, and she unintentionally wondered what exactly was being muffled, then the door opened and Ivy appeared. Honestly, for some inexplicable reason, she had assumed that Ivy would be naked, but it was not so. The other woman was wearing what she usually wore, but there was a new element to the picture with a few poisonous green vines twisting around Ivy's visible arm, with tiny bits of blood on the tips of the thorns. She could reasonably assume then that the blood belonged to Hildegard, as she could not see the slightest trace of any wounds on Ivy.

Ivy looked only slightly perturbed. "I hope that whatever it is, this is something serious."

She responded honestly, and even to her it sounded just a little bit weak. "Taki made another attempt on Erasmus's life, right inside the Wolfkrone capitol."

Ivy smiled, "And she obviously failed, otherwise you would be leaving a trail of tears behind you deep enough to float a boat on."

Indignation caused her temper to flare up, relatively. "Isn't that exaggeration going just a little bit too far?"

Ivy stepped out from the doorway just a little bit, far enough that she could stand up straight. "Not really, in my opinion. I might worry occasionally, but you do enough of that for the both of us put together." Ivy then surprised her by setting a calming hand on her shoulder. "Learn to put a little more faith in Erasmus. I like to think he cares too much about the both of us to allow himself to die because of an assassin, even Taki." The expected, light shove quickly followed. "Now if you don't mind, I was just getting to the good part. Try and do something productive, would you?"

With that, the door shut in her face. She couldn't use the word 'slammed' but it was fairly close. Like it or not Ivy was right, and she did need to ease off with her groundless concerns, but that was just part of who she was. She really didn't think she could change that about herself even if she tried. Being corrupted by the Tower Heart hadn't changed it, so she doubted anything else would.

A reedy voice interrupted her thoughts, and when she turned to look at the source she saw the maniacal visage of the jester, Quaver. "Milady, a moment of your time?"

A little bit skeptical, despite Quaver's track record of the relative innocence of the jester's ramblings, she gave her accent. "Ah, very well, what is it?"

Quaver's feet did a quick jig on the stone floor before he, or it, responded. "I have composed a poem to commemorate the night you spent with our Lord!" Without waiting for her to tell him to go ahead the jester started singing. "Sophitia's special friend: Our First Mistress is a special kind. A former warrior of the just, and light. Our Lord did manage to change her mind. I hear twas quite the night!"

If she could look in a mirror on the spot, she was certain that her face would be a brilliant shade of cherry red. Not that she was embarrassed about having lain with Erasmus, quite the opposite; she was just uncomfortable with public acknowledgment of her sex life. As her standby response to issues with the minions, she drew her right leg back and kicked Quaver in the jaw. The jester minion flew the length of the hallway before clattering down the stairs with a series of sickening cracks. She was certain though that Quaver would survive, after all she had seen the jester fly much farther without harm. Either sent by her, or Ivy, or Erasmus. She made a hasty retreat towards her room before Ivy came out of her room and commented on anything.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: two weeks later

The Overlord was keeping to the resolution he had made on the walls of the Wolfkrone capitol, keeping an eye on every single shadow. It also helped that the Greens were natural assassins and kept an eye on some of the places that he might miss, which weren't many in number. After all, that was how Taki had been exposed in the Capitol; the Greens had smelled someone like them. He'd been hounded by assassins ever since becoming Overlord, of various skill levels. Taki was better for the simple fact that she hadn't tried anything else since Wolfkrone. That told him that she was patient, a rare virtue among most people. All the same, virtue or not, he'd rather Taki get on with it. He was getting very sick of glancing over his shoulder every few minutes. This was on top of the amount of fear the regular soldiers in front of him were experiencing. They were still afraid of him, with good reason, and they were afraid of Taki, thinking that she would just pop out of the ground and kill all of them before they could so much as blink. That was what he was hearing from their frenzied whispers anyway.

A loud crash off in the forest to his left made all the men jump, excluding himself of course. They really shouldn't have even been bothered, Taki was good enough not to make a ruckus like the one he was hearing. Most likely it was a wild animal, a bear, or a boar. Come to think of it, did they even have boar around here? His curiosity was sated when not an animal, but a large man burst out of the trees and swung a large weapon on an arc that cleanly killed every single one of the Wolfkrone troops. To his surprise, it was the man he had fought on his first voyage across the sea, only armed with a large axe instead of a hammer.

He nudged one of the corpses with the toe of his boot. "**Well, I hope you're proud of yourself. You just slaughtered twenty green as grass soldiers with families and children.**"

The giant hoisted the axe back onto his shoulder. "Much as I regret that, I think ridding the world of you takes priority."

He fought the urge to roll her eyes, and lost; "**Another person that wants me dead, terrific.**" He changed his tone to something more suited for polite conversation."**I really do respect the strength of will it would take to survive being stabbed through the stomach and survive. As such, I don't suppose that I could convince you to just walk away without crossing blades?**"

As an answer, the giant swung the large axe at his face. A rapid twist of his blade was the only thing that kept his head on his shoulders, but the axe still clipped the top of his helm well enough to send him reeling. It was times like this when he almost wished that his helmet was of a more normal construction, but there was no time to whine. As the next axe swing came down at him he held his sword at an angle, deflecting the heavier weapon into the dirt where it would hopefully stay for a few moments. The giant however, had other ideas, let go of the axe before grabbing him by the shoulders and physically hurling him through the air across the entire road. He rolled to his feet and faced down the predicted charge, this time deflecting the axe and delivering a return swing. His swing did not connect with flesh, rather, his blade fit perfectly into a deep notch on the back side of the axe blade.

Time almost seemed to freeze for a moment as he realized his error, and looked down at his weapon. He commented on his own situation with a single curse, "**Damn.**"

As he knew would happen, the axe twisted around, taking his arcanium blade with it. He would usually never let go of his sword, but it was either that or break his arm. When the axe reached the highest point of the spin he cast Slow on his opponent and resorted to the most basic of weapons, his fists. Before his enemy could react he grabbed the haft of the axe and kicked the other man hard in the stomach, yanking the oversized weapon out of his foe's hands and hurling it off in the same direction as his blade. Capitalizing on the remaining time he had before his spell wore off he delivered three heavy blows to the other man, two to the face and one to the stomach. The immediate reprisal was not something he would have expected; the other man threw his arms down and picked him up, squeezing him like an overexcited child would squeeze a family pet. He was momentarily at a loss for his options; offensive magic was out of the question because he couldn't aim properly, his blade was off in the bushes somewhere, and he was slowly being crushed to death. Soon, after a loud pop issued from his spine, he decided to stop being creative and go with what he knew best. In quick succession he drove his head forward, connecting with his opponent's nose, and activated his basic Shield spell for a split second to knock the giant away. Then came a Fireball, followed quickly with two savage blows to the scorched flesh. With the giant reeling, he brought his left knee up and drove it into his opponent's groin hard enough to hear the click of metal on bone. He usually wouldn't utilize that last move, but he also wasn't usually on the verge of honorable defeat.

Victorious, he retrieved his flaming sword from the brush and rested the edge on the back of the neck of the other man. "**Well, now that that is settled-**"

His defeated enemy cut him off. "Just kill me this time. It's obvious to me that you were pulling your punches up until the last few blows, and if I can't even beat you like that then I don't see much point in continuing to try."

He lifted his blade, just by a little bit. "**That's rather fatalistic of you. What if I said I was willing to offer you a position in recognition of your abilities?**"

The attention of his fallen opponent was instantly focused. "Surely you are joking? I attempt to kill you and you offer me a job? What kind of logic is that?"

He removed the blade entirely and offered his hand. "**That's the logic of an Evil Overlord that is thinking ahead. I know that, in the future, I will not be able to be everywhere at once, much as I would like to be able to do so. I will need talented people that can command respect through strength to oversee my subjects while I am not there to do it myself.**"

The giant gave him a dumb look, minus the eyebrows. "Not just a job, you are offering me a stewardship?"

He nodded, "**Indeed I am. With living past the now an immediate benefit.**"

A thoughtful look crossed the other man's face, a look he had seen many times before. He knew that there was going to be something else that the man wanted, there always was. Judging by the approximate age of the man on the ground in front of him it was rather likely that any extra request would have to do with any family that he might have.

The giant postulated his extra condition. "One more thing, my son, Bangoo, in the New World; he lives when you cross the sea."

It was an easy enough condition to fulfill, so he held out his hand again. "**Deal. When I go to this, "New World," you will accompany me so we can find your son and see to it that I do not have to kill him.**" He opened a portal back to the Tower and gestured to it. "**In you go. It would certainly be a shame for me to recruit my first lieutenant only to have him die of an infection.**"

As he closed the portal behind the giant his thoughts invariably turned towards the world beyond his quest for Soul Edge. What lay ahead was an enormous undertaking, conquering a world a vast as this and bringing all of it to heel. Compared to his home domain, which he could cross in one day at a determined run, years of work awaited him here, years of fulfillment, of purpose. It warmed his blood to let his thoughts wander like that, but he still had an assassin to concern himself with. For all he knew she was watching him right now, bidding her time.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Above the road

Taki was fighting the urge to beat herself over the head, rather severely. Every single time she had come within an inch of success something had gone wrong. A stiff wind was present that would throw off her shot. The intended flight path was obstructed. Her target was moving too quickly for a reliable hit. She had come close to tears of frustration more times than she could count. With every failure the voice in the back of her head, the voice that stemmed from the corruption of The Overlord, gained more ammunition for its war against her will. It depressed her to know that, even if she successfully killed The Overlord, she herself had become corrupt beyond almost all recognition simply from the chase. After, if she lived, she would be honor-bound to take her own life so she could not harm the world. It almost made want to simply dive down and throw herself for The Overlord's neck with no regards for subtlety or survival, the only thing stopping her being professional pride. All she had to do was succeed, and then she could deal with herself.

It was ironic really; the same honor that drove her to kill The Overlord was what had prevented her from taking the shot just now. It was the epitome of dishonor to interfere in an ongoing duel, and despite the absolutely perfect positioning and conditions she had been unable to take the shot. Rock Adams had bent his knee to The Overlord, but after extracting a promise to protect his son. It was odd to her that The Overlord would even accept such a condition, after all he had taken no such measures in regards to the defeated Hildegard, but that could have been something personal. Odder still was the fact that The Overlord had simply let Rock live, twice from what she had heard, and that the Evil tyrant had been holding himself back the entire time he was engaged in a fist fight with the White Giant. The notion that perhaps The Overlord understood the concept of honor occurred to her, and she really didn't want to shove that thought aside. Indeed, she rather hoped that he did, so that if she failed he would grant her a quick death.

Below, and a slight distance ahead, The Overlord stopped for no obvious reason. But from the orientation of the helmet she could surmise that he was looking at the vista through a break in the trees. It struck her as strangely amusing that The Overlord could be sentimental, as that was the only reason she could think of for stopping to look at a pretty view. But she finally had her moment, perfect stillness and conditions. She slid the darts into the blow gun and put the mouthpiece to her lips, before putting three shots into the thin line between The Overlord's helmet and cuirass. Her target stumbled forward as a natural response, and automatically yanked the tree darts out of his neck. But she had laced each one with enough poison to fell three men. If that dose didn't kill him, then her only hope lay in a miracle within a duel. Moments passed, and The Overlord bent over, hands on his knees. Her pulse started to race, the possibility that the pursuit was finally over momentarily distracting her from her brooding thoughts. More time passed, and The Overlord shook his head once before rising back up with a single cough. Even more than the poison failing, The Overlord swung his gaze straight to her, no doubt in her mind that she was seen.

Her despondence surged back with gusto, and she dropped out of the tree she was in to face the music, so to speak. She found a measure of peace in the knowledge that whatever happened she was going to die. And she again found herself hoping that The Overlord had some semblance of honor.

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

The Overlord stood tall, slightly drawing upon his will to ignore the lingering burning sensation from the poison. It was a little bit amusing that he was getting his wish with regards to a face to face confrontation, but with the added irritant of poison. With regards to Taki herself, the assassin looked to be an emotional disaster story compared to their last meeting. A less trained eye might have missed the subtle cues and clues that, to him, might as well have been glowing brilliant blue in comparison to the red, skin-tight outfit. Taki, in the way she held herself, looked as if she had aged a century in little more than the few weeks she had been hunting him. Her eyelids had fallen just the slightest bit, indicating that she hadn't been sleeping. Overall, just looking like she had been running herself ragged.

He drew his blade, and motioned for his minions to hold back while taking a long stride towards the assassin. "**You impress me Taki.**" He stopped walking at a reasonable distance away. "**I would praise you further, but the poison in my blood is just a little bit irritating right now.**"

Taki shook her head and placed both hands on the knives attached to her back. "I don't want to drag this out any longer. No words, just fighting."

He shrugged and held his blade out before him, ready to start deflecting many swift blows. "**If you insist, but I still feel that I must point out that even you don't think you have any chance of victory. It's plain as day in your voice.**"

Taki stepped in and kicked him twice, once in the knee and once in the chest, with no effect. "Even if you are right, and I'm not saying you are, I don't have a choice."

He deflected a slash with his wrist and delivered a backhand to Taki's opposite hand. "**Not to sound preachy, but there is always a choice, for all of us.**"

Taki jumped forward and up, over him through the air. His eyes automatically followed, but at the top of the arc the assassin flung some kind of powder in his face, causing momentary blindness. To compensate for the vulnerability he activated his Shock Shield, and heard rather than felt Taki collide with the barrier as she tried to take advantage of his momentary lapse in vision. Relying on his hearing, he pinpointed the direction of the discharge and turned his clearing vision towards it just in time to watch an even more frazzled Taki climb to her feet. Possibly due to an advanced case of fatigue, he saw Taki's legs tense up for another jump, so rather than just sit by and watch her fly over his head he jumped back as well, within easy arms reach when the ninja touched back down. Taki's eyes went wide and she got off one desperate, ineffectual slash before he had a solid grip on both of her upper arms. With no effort at all he picked the ninja up, turned around, and slammed the woman back against a tree.

The subsequent cry of pain was excessive for the force he had used, and the way she had reflexively tried to curl into a fetal position told him that there was far more damage than he had previously thought. He adjusted his grip so that he was pinning Taki to the tree with one hand, and so that his head and neck were out of range of any last ditch killing attempt. Taking an educated guess he slowly started to run the index finger of his free hand up the left side of Taki's abdomen, pulling it away when his hand reached the area beneath her shoulder and prompted another cry of pain accompanied by tears of a similar origin.

Taki's hands left the handles of her blades completely and scrabbled at the gauntlet pinning to the tree, "No, please."

Ignoring the plea, he used the sharp point of his finger to split the red leather from the armpit down, revealing the blackened bandages that stood out in sharp contrast to Taki's exceptionally pale flesh. He had seen this kind of work before, on people that had taken a serious blow to the chest, and broken several bones, ribs most likely. A slight twinge of empathetic pain flickered through his chest, as he had suffered an injury like that very early in his career during his first encounter with Melvin. He let go of Taki and allowed her to slide down to the ground, taking a step back to a respectful distance.

The ninja looked up at him, and he could see it in her eyes that her pride was shattered. "Why? Why bother to leave me alive?" Her right hand crossed under her breasts to hold her ribs. "I swore that I would kill you, that I would prevent calamity from befalling the world."

He sheathed his blade. "**I hardly think that I have caused any great cataclysm in your world, or that I ever would. I am The Overlord, not the 'great destroyer.' Furthermore, isn't that a rather tall order for yourself? Safeguarding the entire world?**"

Taki made an attempt to stand, and failed. "If I don't do it, no one else will."

He crossed his arms and shook his head. "**Is your opinion of mankind truly that low? Or are you simply trying to justify your own Evil deeds by telling yourself that you serve a higher purpose?**"

The only answer he received was silence, but he already knew the truth. With a lump of pity floating in his throat, he waved forward five of his Blues, watched the fireworks, then turned around and walked away. Leaving Taki emotionally broken, physically beaten, but alive, and probably most importantly, awake.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Roadside Keep

Zasalamel watched 'The Overlord' leave the assassin behind to continue down the road, towards him. Moments later, the ninja stood and started to follow the Dark One. He closed his spyglass and looked to the sky above, where the first stars were just starting to dot the blackening ceiling. His plan had suffered far too many disruptions already, without the interference of this 'Overlord.' Steps would need to be taken, and a day or two would be when such steps would be taken.


	9. The Demon of Memory

Chapter 9: The Demon of Memory

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

Taki couldn't explain her current motivations to anyone, even if asked. She felt compelled to follow The Overlord, and she most certainly did not want to kill herself. It was odd, she had just had her life, her entire existence, picked apart and thrown in her face, but it didn't feel horrible like she expected it would, rather, it felt liberating. Like she had been dragging a ball and chain around for her entire life, and it had only just been severed. Perhaps, if this feeling was what had drawn Sophitia to The Overlord, and it was born of the corruption that she could feel pumping through her veins with every beat of her heart, then she might have been too quick to judge. She knew what the Greek had been through, the loss of her entire family, and for someone as emotional as Sophitia that was a life crippling event. Falling in love with The Overlord must have seemed like a gift from divinity, or perhaps simply divinity itself. Why was she bothering to think about these things? She really couldn't say. But it was like her defeat had breathed new life into the cold embers of her emotions. It made her think about how she had lived the last twenty nine years of her life, living more like a vessel than a person. What had happened to her hopes, her dreams? Had she ever come up with even one? What kind of hollow excuse for a life had she been living?

Ahead, just at the edge of her vision, The Overlord took a sharp turn off the road. She took care not to be seen, but more out of habit than anything else, as she hurried up to the turnoff point. Upon her arrival at that point she was presented with a black tear floating in front of her, obviously the way The Overlord traveled between his home and here. The void was a jagged rip, and if she focused on the edges she could barely perceive that they were drawing slowly back together. At the rate she was seeing, perhaps an hour or two would pass before the tear would be too small to admit her. She hesitated, still not sure what she was doing. Impulsive thought and action were something she had no experience with. Really, even the few times she had lain with another person had been part of a calculated plan to end the life of the individual in question. The only person that she had ever actually cared about was her foster father Toki, and she had killed him to serve her professed goal of safeguarding the world. She shook her head, sucked in a deep breath, and stepped through.

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Taki popped out of a small pool of water, and felt her eyes instantly widen in panic at the bright torches that might as well be covering her with glowing paint. Out of instinct, she raced into the shadows off to one side of the chamber to hide, and she waited there, almost paralyzed with terror at the stupidity of her impulsiveness. Luckily, The Overlord had his back to her and was being fussed over by Sophitia. In spite of the red eyes, she had never seen anyone look happier. That doe-eyed look practically made Sophitia glow, and it made her feel sick. But not sick with disgust, it was envy that was intense enough to make her nauseous. She was looking at an image that could have been torn right out of a fairytale, with a few embellishments, so she was shocked to see Ivy Valentine enter the picture, and in a dress. Granted that the dress had a long slit in the side that went all the way up to the top of Ivy's thigh, but it was still a dress, and infinitely more modest than what Ivy usually wore.

The silver haired woman crossed the room and stood right next to Sophitia. What amazed her was that neither woman seemed to care in the least that the other was there, so either The Overlord had brainwashed both of them, or they were both actually fine with sharing one man. She shook her head, starting to get a headache from trying to process all of this information at once. A series of loud clicks drew her attention, and as soon as she looked up she realized The Overlord was heading directly her way. She was baffled, because she knew with one hundred percent surety that she simply could not be seen. Due to both her natural talents, and the mystic arts she dabbled in. The Overlord came within three feet of her, then hung a sharp right and went down a set of stairs that she had not immediately noticed. She held her breath until both Sophitia and Ivy had long vanished into the stairwell after the Dark One. She waited still longer before slowly creeping into the dark stairwell, drawn by a compulsive sense of curiosity. In the darkness, something moved and she froze. A smell hit her nostrils; one of rotting corpses and fish heads, then multiple small weights hit her in the back and caused her to tumble, head over heels, all the way down the stairs.

Dark Tower: Spawning Pits

The Overlord smiled to himself as he heard the cacophony of crashes and bangs from the stairwell, pleased that he had been able to read the look on Taki's face after her defeat correctly. She wasn't through with him yet, for better or for worse.

He turned around to look at the pile of Greens pinning Taki to the floor, and commented to Sophitia and Ivy. "**I told you she'd show up, as predictable as clockwork. All it took was the right lure.**" He brushed aside the Greens dancing around on Taki's head. "**So, here you are, in my home, sneaking around. To what end, might I ask?**"

The ninja's face showed just the slightest hint of a blush, "I, ah…" Taki coughed once and she recovered her composure, well, as much as she could lying on the floor underneath a pile of triumphant Greens. "What you said in that clearing, might be true as of now but I'm not convinced. I'm here to keep an eye on you. This way I can take you out should you lose that supposed discipline you professed to have."

He had not missed the first reaction, and his amusement crept into his response. "**Of course you are.**" He dug through the pile of dancing Greens to find Taki's hand, and hauled the ninja to her feet, kicking a few Greens around just for the heck of it. "**You plan on living here then? Because I don't think I'd feel inclined to continually readmit someone pledged to kill me if they disapprove of my methods. That would generally be considered bad Overlording sense.**"

Taki didn't even bat an eyelash. "I suppose that I'll have to."

He suppressed the urge to laugh, barely. "**Then I suppose you will also need a place to sleep.**" A gesture served the dual purpose of dismissing the flock of disappointed Greens, and shooing the ninja towards the stairs. Once Taki was on her way, he took the time to look back at Sophitia and Ivy, just to shake his head in disbelief.

Dark Tower: Spawning Pits

Sophitia felt her face twist up at Taki's blatantly obvious attempt at a lie. It really was that hard to not burst out laughing. Even now, Taki was in denial, and it was almost what she would call cute. It was even more hilarious because the Taki she half-knew could not even be spoken of in the same sentence as the word 'cute.' Really, who exactly was Taki trying to fool?

She voiced her thoughts; "Do you think we'll be able to get along with another woman?"

Ivy was not bothering to hide her mirth, and was chuckling openly. "I think so, after all, I'm getting along with you, aren't I?"

She sighed, "I'm not that hard to get along with, and I know that."

A smirk lifted the right corner of Ivy's mouth. "Well you're not lacking for confidence anymore, that's a plus." Ivy gestured towards the stairs; "Shall we? I don't know about you, but I feel a little bit lonely. Erasmus has been on the road for two weeks and…" The other woman trailed off suggestively.

She commented on the idea, not wholly liking it, but attracted nonetheless. "You just want to terrify Taki on her first night here."

Ivy's smirk acquired the slightest bit of malice. "You're partially right. The first reason is as I said; terrifying the ninja is just an added bonus."

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

The Overlord slowly walked past the three occupied rooms in his Tower. As he walked, he mentally checked off the occupied rooms. First Sophitia's, then his own, followed by Ivy's. Beyond those three rooms there were only two empty ones. Upon his arrival at the first empty one he stopped, barring Taki's forward progress, and pushed the door open with his right hand. Inside, there was only one thing, a simple four poster bed. The walls were bare save for the plain windows, the floor just simple black stone, all in all a completely lifeless space.

He swept an arm through the air, showing off the Spartan space. "**Regrettably, no one until you will have called this place home. So, as you can see, there are no frills.**" A simple gesture ushered the ninja inside. "**If you have any ideas to personalize your room, I would be happy to spring for the cost.**"

Again, Taki's face showed the slightest hint of a blush before the ninja clamped down on her emotions. "That will not be necessary. This is nothing but a temporary arrangement."

He crossed the room to the windows, opening them and allowing in a slight breeze before speaking his rebuttal. "**Temporary until what time? You must know that I'm not going to simply stop after I acquire Soul Edge, the rest of the world will follow.**" He took two steps and closed the distance between him and Taki. "**At what point do you become 'convinced' of my intentions?**"

The woman standing in front of him could not seem to look him in the eye, and he was strangely reminded of Sophitia. Just a black-haired version of his First Mistress that had a tight rein on her emotions as opposed to letting them flow freely. Still, he could reasonably make an analogy of a dam with long, deep cracks running through the structure. At some point, sooner or later, that dam was going to bust wide open. What the results of such an event would be, he could not say.

As a test, he set his left hand on Taki's shoulder, just to see how she would react. "**Just think about it. After all, as it is this room looks far too much like a prison cell.**"

Taki shied away slightly, but did not swat at his hand. On top of that, he could feel her temperature explode upwards even through his arcanium gauntlet. "And why exactly would that bother you?"

He responded with complete honesty. "**As of now you are a guest in my home, not a prisoner. Leave whenever you like should you feel the need, I will not stop you.**"

Taki still would not look him in the eye. "And, you would spend your gold on just a guest?"

A single, loud laugh escaped his throat. "**Why not? You obviously have not seen my treasury. I can't close the door and I've expanded the room five times. Even if you leave I'll at least have a furnished room for the next guest, if there ever is one.**" He shook his head, deciding to drop the matter for now. "**Just consider it because, as I said, you're probably going to be here for a long time.**"

As he left the room, just before he shut the door all the way, he could have sworn Taki said something endearing and emotional, but he dismissed it as a figment of his predicative imagination.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Next Day

The Overlord stepped back through the same portal he had used to lure Taki. He was taking a risk coming back here, but only of losing time. He'd continue down the same road for another three days and if he wasn't at Ostrhinesburg by then he'd go back to Wolfkrone for another guide. It was annoying, but a necessity. He supposed he could always just ask Sophitia or Ivy, but he didn't want to. That was his pride getting in the way of his work, but he could live with a delay as nothing serious had ever actually happened due to him being stubborn. A few strides brought him back to the road, and he shot a glance both ways to confirm the direction he had been going in. From where he was standing, that was a left.

He had taken literally one step onto the dirt road when a voice floated through the air that sent a chill through his blood, "Erasmus?"

His head whipped around towards the source of the noise and surprise, not fear, set his pulse racing. The very fact that the speaker knew his name narrowed it down to only a handful of people, and all but two of those people were dead. Out of the bushes on the far side of the road emerged one of his old friends, Oberon. And not the asleep-and-wrapped-in-a-tree Oberon, this was awake, alert, and armed Oberon.

Oberon took a step closer to him, hand pulling taut a bowstring that was not yet aimed at him. "You, Erasmus, you killed me."

His hand tightened into a death grip on his sword. "**To be fair, your nightmares tried to kill me all over Evernight until I did you in. In addition, you practically begged me to kill you when it became apparent that your nightmares were, in fact, controlling you. So yes, I did it.**"

Oberon's baleful eyes narrowed. "And when you murdered my spirit in the Abyss?"

The memory made him chuckle involuntarily. "**As for that, you were just blocking my progress to the Abyss Stone. Blame the Forgotten God for your placement if you must.**"

A small spark of rage flashed through the elf's eyes. "You have not a single shred of remorse for murdering me, twice. How can you live with yourself? I was the only one that wanted to try and help you after you-"

He cut Oberon off; "**Fell from the Tower in a heroic sacrifice to kill the previous Overlord, I know. Here's the rub though, it didn't work, and that same Overlord went around disguised as the Wizard, corrupting all of you. Then he used me to kill you all off before trying to usurp my rule right out from under me. Needless to say because I am standing here, he failed.**"

The elf continued to glare at him. "I had hoped you would be reticent, but I seem to have overestimated your decency all those years ago. So be it."

The elf put two fingers in his mouth and produced a sharp whistle. Moments later, the bushes to Oberon's right parted to admit a short figure clad in glittering golden armor, Goldo, the dwarf king.

He shrugged, "**Two on one is still doable. After all, it took all seven of us to kill my predecessor. And I still don't see…**"

Just as he was about to name the only one of his old friends that would give him pause, the ground began to shake and an admittedly annoying voice cried out; "KAHN WILL CRUSH!"

A moment of relative silence passed, broken only by the sound of Kahn's approach, and only one word came to mind; "**Damn.**"

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Sophitia slowly opened her eyes, taking note of the fact that her eyelids had acquired the habit of fluttering for a split second every time she woke up. Judging from the bright light gently floating in through a crack in the curtains she had slept in, another habit of hers that was a bit more noticeable when she wasn't running for her life. Of course, that meant she never woke up before Erasmus and was always just lying here after a night together. Still drowsy, she sat up, not bothering to keep her chest covered as there was no one around that would care. Ivy had already seen everything, Hildegard was beyond caring, the minions might gawk for a moment but they would forget in three seconds or so, and Gnarl was far downstairs.

Out of nowhere, a voice shocked her into full awareness. "**Sophitia? Can you hear me?**"

There was no mistaking Erasmus's voice, but no matter how much she looked around she couldn't see him. It raised the concern that perhaps she really was starting to go crazy, and in a very bad way.

She carefully responded; "Erasmus? I, I can hear you."

Erasmus's voice seemed relieved, and strained at the same time. "**Well, that's good. I wasn't sure if that trick would work for you and me yet. Before you ask, yes, I am speaking to you telepathically inside your head. I find myself in a bit of a bind, five to one odds, and I would appreciate it if you could convince Ivy, and possibly Taki, to rouse themselves.**"

Relieved that she wasn't going mad, and galvanized by the rare event of Erasmus actually asking for aid, she got dressed in less than half the time she usually took. "I'll be there, with both of them!"

She took off, crossing the short distance between Erasmus's room and Ivy's in the space of a few heartbeats, her own beating at three times what it had been when she first awoke. Without knocking, she burst into the room, and was surprised to find nothing. Undaunted, she sprinted to the next door and blew through it, to find Ivy making an attempt to have a pleasant cup of tea with Taki. Judging by the ninja's ramrod posture and stiff limbs, that attempt was failing miserably. Internally she was amazed; Ivy had to be the single most self-confident, headstrong woman she had ever met.

Ivy paused with a cup halfway to her lips, clad in her usual attire. "What exactly has gotten you all worked up?"

Aware of how crazy she sounded, she relayed the message anyway. "Erasmus is in danger, he's asking for our aid." Before the obvious question came she spit out the answer. "He spoke to me, in my head."

A long moment of silence passed, and if she had not been so deadest on her objective she might have wilted under the combined gaze of Taki's emotionless façade, and Ivy's patronizing smirk.

She 'thought' to Erasmus, "They don't really seem to believe me."

The mental equivalent of a sigh reached her. "**Can't say I wasn't expecting that. I'll try to get through to Isabella, maybe that will convince the both of them.**"

Within a few seconds Ivy's eyes went as wide as dinner plates, before returning to normal. She couldn't hear what Erasmus was saying to Ivy, but that was to be expected. The only thing that mattered to her right now though, was that Ivy believed Erasmus over her word.

Ivy took one last sip of her tea, draining the small cup dry, and placed both saucer and cup back down on the table, the picture of calm. "Well…" The silver-haired woman stood; "… what are we waiting for?"

She felt a smile cross her face, and she started to turn to run to the Portal, but then she stopped when she realized that Taki hadn't moved a single muscle. "You, you aren't coming?"

Taki was obviously still trying to lie to herself. "What do I care if he gets killed? I can be on my way within the hour if the situation is as dire as it sounds." From first word to last, Taki's face was a brilliant shade of red.

She exchanged an incredulous glance with Ivy, who simply shrugged, before running. Amusingly, just as she and Ivy reached the top of the stairs a gust of wind apparently blew by the both of them. As long as she had been here, never had there been so much as a breeze running through the Private Quarters.

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

The Overlord felt his right eye twitch at even intervals, feeling justifiably nervous about his chances for the first time in a long while. Arrayed against him were five of the most lethal people he had ever encountered, with Jewel at the bottom of that list. Still it was bad form to get stabbed numerous times in the back while he was trying to not get hit by Kahn's massive flail. William the Black had also shown up, and the corrupt version of that neurotic paladin never traveled by himself. Behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of a portal opening. But when he turned to look he was shocked at who was there.

His voice conveyed his shock, and a hint of amusement. "**Taki? Color me impressed, I hadn't thought you would show up, let alone be the first one here.**"

The ninja's face flashed red for a second, and then she looked away. "I, I just didn't have anything better to do. Count yourself lucky."

He suppressed the urge to snort, and turned his gaze towards the open Portal as both Sophitia and Isabella popped out of it. Both of them armed, and ready for action.

Sophitia wasted no time in rushing over to him and, being true to character, start fussing over him. "Are you ok? They havn't-"

He put the first two fingers on his left hand over Sophitia's mouth, silencing the adorable, if occasionally irritating, ramblings. "**Yes dear, I'm perfectly fine, and unhurt.**"

Isabella took a position next to him, and then shot a glance towards the five adversaries. "They haven't attacked you yet?"

He turned back towards his old friends. "**No, I think they wanted me to beg for mercy first. Despite the fact that the odds of that happening are only slightly greater than the chances of a Green willingly taking a bath.**"

Isabella flourished her whip-sword, licking her lips in anticipation of the upcoming fight. "So, there are still five of them to the four of us. Who gets the two to one odds?"

He gathered his minions around himself, already coming up with a plan to level the playing field. "**Oh I don't know about that. I still think it will be four on four. But I get Kahn; I'll not have one of you broken into a thousand pieces by a lucky swing.**" With a grand gesture he sent all sixty-five of his minions at one target, Oberon, "**Go!**"

As he charged at Kahn he had the distinct pleasure of witnessing the quasi-noble elf disappear under a pile of flailing clubs and twisted limbs, accompanied by the agonized screams of Oberon that brought him back to his raid on the Evernight Abyss. Of course, there he had simply burned the elf alive.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Battlefield

Ivy found herself squaring off against someone whom Erasmus had telepathically informed her was named Sir William the Black. Right away she was put off by the lecherous gaze that the "paladin" had affixed her with, one that she had long ago become used to. But just because she was used to it didn't mean she liked it. Sir William was worse than usual, even by the lecherous standards she had for men. The paladin had a glazed over look to his eyes, like he was off in his own little world yet still maintained enough mental faculty to fight her with a large, gaudy staff. She could admit that William was rather good, as he had already nicked her leg once or twice, but she hadn't even begun to use all of her tricks yet. With a simple thought she forced a small thorny vine to sprout out of the ground at William's right foot, that same vine then lashed itself around that same foot and pulled.

William's focus, if that was what she could call it, shifted down to the thorny nuisance. "What in Heaven's name…?"

While William was distracted she extended her sword, trying for a long-range impale. But at the last instant the paladin moved his chest out of the way and yanked his foot free of the single vine. The failure brought a scowl to her face, but it was the first time she had ever tried using that trick on another sentient being so she supposed that she had plenty of time left to practice.

William turned his depraved face towards her, glaring with his empty eyes. "Did you really think you would defeat me so easily, peasant?" The paladin leapt straight up into the air, slamming the ground with the staff, "To me, my followers!"

Seemingly materializing out of thin air, dozens of men and women dressed almost exactly like William surrounded her. The only perceivable difference was that each one wore a disturbing mask that depicted a gross misrepresentation of an eye, and was armed with only a small, twisted dagger. As ineffective of a weapon as it was compared to her own, she was still struck with the mental image of all those tiny blades digging into her flesh in a swarm of pain. She had absolutely zero desire to see that image made reality. In preparation, she drew her blade back, but left it in its whip state. Also, that vine she had used to distract William grew until in connected with her outstretched left hand, wrapping around her wrist in an almost affectionate manner. Of course, it was a plant, and all it knew was that she fed it the one thing the Alraune desired above all else, blood.

The moment one of the masked minions took one step towards her, daggers held in a ceremonial position in front of their chests, she charged, lashing at the crowd with both her whip-sword, and a vine that was so covered in thorns that it might as well have been bladed. At a single strike from either weapon, a person fell, never to stand again, and every swing hit more than one person. She spun on the tips of her feet, performing a dance of death, pirouetting like a ballerina. As drops of blood spattered across her flesh, she was overcome with the urge to laugh, and laugh she did. A chilling, cruel laugh that sent waves of terror seething through the ranks of her enemies.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Battlefield

Sophitia once again found herself facing a dwarf, but this time there was ample emphasis on the word 'a.' So she only had to worry about dodging the sluggish swings of one golden axe as opposed to the five pickaxes of her last encounter. One thing that she noticed right away was that the dwarf, Goldo, as Erasmus had mentioned once or twice, actually had a very hard time turning on one spot. She could surmise that it was because of the stumpy little legs, and the excessive weight of all the armor that he was wearing. In accordance with her observation, she had devised a very simple strategy, stay behind Goldo and chip away at the back of the dwarf's neck. Eventually she would either decapitate Goldo or he would pass out from losing blood. Either way worked for her.

As it was, she was fairly relaxed and keeping tabs on everyone else on her side of this confrontation. Judging from Ivy's laughter she doubted that the silver-haired woman needed any help whatsoever, and from the tone of the laugh she was again struck by the notion that Ivy was very close to the perfect companion for the stereotypical Evil villain. Of course, Erasmus was far from stereotypical. As for her beloved, he was doing something similar to what she was doing. Dodging between Kahn's legs and hacking away at the giant while avoiding the Tower Heart sized flail. Seeing the amount of force behind that wrecking ball she understood why Erasmus had not wanted any of them facing the giant warrior. No amount of arcanium-enchanted healing would help her if she was just a bloody smear on the ground. When she glanced over at Taki, she was momentarily concerned. The ninja seemed to be in a bit of a bind because the woman she was facing, Jewel the thief, was not really fighting. Every few moments a black-clad thug would leap out of the bushes and try to kill Taki, and despite it only taking one or two blows to do away with the thug Jewel had the opportunity to attempt stabbing Taki in the back.

A sharp buzz in her gut made her jump back almost without thinking. Goldo had attempted a blind swing behind him that came within an inch or two of cutting her across the stomach. Chagrined by her inattentiveness she focused all of her attention back on Goldo, even with as repetitive a task as it was. But she quietly thanked the Tower Heart for granting her the gift of precognition. Of late, that gift had warned her of nearly every threat to her own health without fail, an almost one-hundred percent effective ratio. Still, knowing didn't help much unless she was ready to do something about it.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Battlefield

The Overlord stabbed upwards, again, at Kahn's thigh in yet another attempt to bring the warrior's head within range. Still, Kahn refused to go down and answered his thrust with another wild swing of the flail. This duel involuntarily brought him back to the town of Heaven's Peak, his first and, up until now, last battle with Kahn. The warrior wore enough durium armor to make a siege weapon look like an elegant work of art, and while his arcanium arms were far superior they were not quite superior enough to cleave through Kahn's armor except with many repeated strikes. Needless to say, repeated strikes were nowhere near easy when hopping around trying to avoid getting hit by a flail that was bigger than he was. He would more than likely survive the blow, as he had done so on two occasions in Heaven's Peak, but he did not feel like putting it to the test for a third time.

He delivered another slash to the back of Kahn's knee, in an attempt to hamstring the giant, again without success. In a preventative attempt to avoid the counter-swing he took a quick step to the right, and slipped on a loose stone. He didn't fall, but he wasn't able to get out of the way of the flail as it came around. The weight hit him square in the chest and lifted him off the ground some dozen or so feet. He also gave an involuntary roar of rage as he flew. In the air, he twisted around so he could track where he would land, and was mildly shocked by his trajectory. If he was right, he would cannon into the back of Jewel the thief. Taking the opportunity that was presented he readied his blade to impale Jewel from behind. It wasn't sporting, but in open conflict like this he couldn't afford to always be completely fair. Besides, he preferred this method to chasing Jewel across the Ruborian Desert a thousand times over.

Contrary to character, Jewel did not seem to notice the doom descending down on her, but he wasn't going to complain. In point of fact, killing Jewel would free Taki to aid him against Kahn, and he was beyond caring how much aid he received so long as Kahn died, again. His earlier concerns about a chance blow smearing one of the women across the landscape would be significantly mitigated with more than one person facing the giant warrior. That, and there was the assumption that Taki could climb up Kahn's back without being noticed before removing the puny head from Kahn's massive frame.

Below him, the conflict he was flying towards reversed itself, with Taki now standing with her back to him. As such he barely had time to move him blade to only strike Taki with just his physical mass, which added to his armor was quite considerable. A split second later he felt a small blade drive itself into the lower region of his back, but the blade did not enter flesh.

He rolled off of the prone ninja and stopped his swinging blade less than an inch from Jewel's neck. "**Jewel, you always were incredibly stupid. Consider yourself lucky I don't have time to treat you to my torture chamber again.**" With that, he pushed the edge through Jewel's neck without gathering any momentum. Strangely, the satisfaction he derived from killing Jewel again was only marginal, perhaps because there had been no challenge to it?

Almost immediately the childish roars of Kahn intensified a thousand fold, repeating the pathetic cry of "JEWEL!" over and over as Kahn tried to haul his titanic frame across the several dozen feet now separating them. All else was gone from Kahn's mind save for a single-minded determination to squash him into jelly, just like last time.

He hauled Taki to her feet, noting that her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps and her pulse was racing far faster than could be explained by just adrenaline. "**Are you all right? No broken bones I hope?**"

Taki's blades hung loosely in her hands, which in turn hung at her sides in equal measure, fatigue forcing the ninja to lean into his grip, consciously or not; "I, I'll live."

He nodded once; "**Good, now could you please go into those trees there and ambush Kahn as he passes by? The oaf will be completely focused on me, so you should be relatively safe climbing up his back and taking his head off.**"

As Taki staggered off to comply he became aware of a long, deep gash down the back of her right thigh, and the edges were charred. Apparently he had not moved his blade as far out of the way as he suspected. Not wanting Taki to be in pain, he pulled a Blue from the pile of minions that were still beating the struggling Oberon to death, and forced it to sprint the length of the field. Once the Blue caught up with Taki there was only time for a quick chant, but that was enough to close the wound. Surprise at her leg holding her weight caused Taki to whirl about, and catch sight of the Blue rushing back to the frenzy that was Oberon's death sentence. Her eyes turned towards his, and they met. He could almost literally see the figurative cracks in the dam widen in the depths of her amber eyes. Like his gaze was a hammer driving home the wedge of truth. In spite of the situation, he almost laughed at that last thought. It wasn't exactly like him to be poetic, but he supposed everyone had their moments.

Perfectly to plan, Kahn made a blind rush, or more of a waddle depending on how he wanted to look at it, at him, ignoring all else. The warrior passed directly past where Taki should have been, and he smiled to himself as the assassin lightly jumped from the tree to Kahn's sloped back without any trouble whatsoever. In a few short moments Taki was crouching at Kahn's neck, blades poised and waiting for his signal.

He shouted over the childish bellowing of the warrior. "**Kahn! Do everyone a favor, and shut up.**" A slight wave was all the signal Taki needed, and Kahn's comparatively tiny head rolled to a stop at his feet, still oozing blood.

Above, where Kahn's headless torso was just starting to teeter towards falling, Taki made a blind jump for the ground in order to avoid any chance that she might be crushed beneath Kahn's corpse. Keeping his eyes pointed skyward, he tracked Taki's intended path and took one step to the right before holding out his arms. Within moments, like it was required by fate, Taki fell into his arms as cleanly as a key fitting into a lock. It was then amusing to him that Taki froze at the contact, yet her temperature shot up faster than a Brown could charge into battle.

Already sensing the ninja's embarrassment, he could not resist twisting the knife, so to speak. "**Ah, Taki, so nice of you to drop in.**"

The assassin's reaction was cute, but he turned his mind back to business almost immediately. Considering the state of the battlefield now, with all of his old friends either dead or dying, he was forced to wonder just who in this world held the power to overturn death. More importantly, one that could undo the death of someone from across the void. Whoever they were, they were a threat, a threat that needed to be dealt with before he could advance to Ostrhinesburg.


	10. Bury the Past

Chapter 10: Bury the Past

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

Taki felt her heart beating a mile a minute, all brought on by the comparatively innocuous event of falling, or jumping, into The Overlord's arms. Despite the hard edges of the metal, his touch was delicate, gentle even, like he was cradling a priceless work of art. For a moment, she wasn't quite sure whether she felt flattered by the thought, or insulted. When The Overlord set her down, on her feet, with the same level of care, she settled on flattered. The smart remark he had made upon catching her still made her feel self-conscious, but she was distracting herself by pondering the quandary of where such exotic warriors could have come from, coupled with the fact that The Overlord claimed to have killed each one of them already. He had no reason to lie, except possibly shoring up his ego, but that was a long-shot at best.

There was a crash from the bushes off to her right and Sophitia appeared out of them, spattered with tea-colored blood from head to toe. The blond opened her mouth, but before any words came out The Overlord cut her off. "**Yes dear, I am perfectly fine. I swear, sometimes you act more like my mother than my First Mistress.**"

Sophitia's face turned almost as red as her eyes, "Well, I…"

The Overlord held his left hand up. "**Relax, I was simply teasing you. I care too much to directly insult you.**" His left hand turned around and beckoned, "**Now, if you don't mind I'd like a short discussion as to how someone from this world could resurrect the dead from my homeland.**"

Sophitia complied, obviously, and crossed the intervening distance at a jog. Upon arrival the blond cast her gaze about and commented upon the only absentee, "Where's Ivy?"

There was a pause and The Overlord's chin inclined upwards ever so slightly. "**One moment…**"

It hit her that The Overlord was going to speak with Ivy telepathically, like he had done in the Tower. The realization sparked an unexplainable twinge of envy, the knowledge that Ivy shared a bond strong enough with The Overlord to allow them to share thoughts as easily as spoken words. That wasn't even considering the bond he had with Sophitia, which must have been stronger by an order of magnitude by now. That was obvious to her considering their duel on the Wolfkrone battlefield. Even as corrupt as Sophitia was she was still much the same woman, magnanimous, apologetic, and emotional. Still, at least the blond knew what she was feeling when, and why.

The Overlord shifted his gaze back towards her and Sophitia. "**Isabella is taking her sweet time killing William the Black, making it hurt. She suggested that we start without her.**" He spun his grip on his blade and sheathed it in one motion. "**So, any guesses as to who, or what is capable of such a feat? As of now I'm in your hands. I have nothing to go on.**" The Overlord turned to Sophitia, who could only shrug. Then his gaze fell on her; "**Taki?**"

After scouring her knowledge, and previous encounters, she had come up with only one possible answer. "I, there is only one I know of who could perform such a deed. Though I do not think he has resurrected those we just fought, per se. The man I speak of, Zasalamel, has never actually brought the dead back to life. He has only ever created shades from memory."

The Overlord's eyes narrowed quizzically. "**Then, they were simply figments of my imagination? For shades they hit rather hard.**"

She shook her head. "No, through some foul craft they are as true to life as if they had never died. I've some personal experience with his brand of sorcery."

The Overlord paused for a moment, and the fact that he did not ask who Zasalamel had 'revived' to face her was duly noted. She was grateful that he had spared her the pain of reliving her encounter with the scythe-wielding sorcerer, and of dueling Toki's shade.

The Overlord emerged from his reverie; "**I see. If that is the case, then must he be close by to command these shades?**" His gaze turned to scan the horizon, "**Say, would that distant fort be close enough?**"

She followed the pointing finger of The Overlord to a structure far off in the distance. To use the word 'fort' would be a compliment to the rundown ruin she was looking at, but so far as a shelter was considered, it would be quite adequate. Also, given Zasalamel's tendency towards cheating, with falling gears and rocks, it would provide plenty of opportunities to knock around an unsuspecting intruder. However, she doubted that a falling rock would do much to stop The Overlord. Wait, where exactly had this sudden overpowering faith in The Overlord's abilities come from?

The Overlord's gaze lingered on the distant construct for a long while, one hand stroking his hidden chin in obvious thought. "**If that is indeed the case…**" He turned his golden eyes back towards her and Sophitia; "**… then I think it wise that all three of you return to the Tower, immediately.**"

She practically choked out a scant two words; "What? Why?" When the blurted objection drew her a quizzical stare she managed to force out a more controlled objection. "I mean, you might need us to fight Zasalamel."

There was a moment where The Overlord remained silent, and she felt his eyes drilling into the top of her head when she looked down. "**I have two reasons. One, if this Zasalamel is using the shades of my memories to fight, then it is practically assured that he will eventually use the shade of the man I knew as 'The Wizard.' I think you should all return because that man is far beyond all three of you put together.**"

Sophitia started to object as well, "But…"

The Overlord shut Sophitia up with the tips of his fingers; something she was starting to realize was a regular event. "**Reason number two; I am quite sure that there are particular ghosts from the past that none of you wish to face. Shades that it would be especially painful to confront.**"

The implication was not lost on the blond, and Sophitia's eyes widened with the realization that following might mean facing her dead children, her dead husband, and even her sister if Cassandra Alexandra had passed on. As for herself, it could only be Toki, again. It had been hard enough for her to kill the shade of her foster father the first time, when she was emotionally dead. Now, she could not honestly say to herself that she could manage a repeat performance.

Ivy burst in on the conversation; "Well, I don't have any ghosts to fear from my past. Ergo, I am coming along whether you like it or not."

The Overlord shook his head, obviously not budging from the decision he had already made. "**Ah, Isabella, ever the rash one. You obviously did not hear my first compelling reason.**" A short chuckle leaked from within the crowned helmet. "**Of course, even if you did you'd still insist on it anyway. But, much as I appreciate the thought…**" The Overlord lifted his command gauntlet into the air in front of him; "**… This is not a negotiation.**"

She had seen the gesture before, and the implication was astonishing, "You, you wouldn't."

The Overlord snapped his fingers. "**Yes, I would. I'll be back when Zasalamel has been dealt with.**"

She would have screamed an objection, but she had already been swallowed by the Portal that The Overlord had opened directly beneath her feet.

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

The Overlord turned on the spot to make for the distant structure without as much as a second of hesitation. Truth be told, he was more concerned with what Zasalamel could do if left unchecked then what the repercussions might be upon his return home. Well, he could assume that there would be at least some resentment from his mistresses, Isabella in particular. But, as ironic as the statement was given the circumstances, time heals all wounds.

It occurred to him, as he strode down the road, that Zasalamel might not restrict his 'resurrection' to combatants only. This sorcerer might reveal the specter of Velvet, and that brought up the moral quandary of killing a woman that he had once loved. But, he had moved on. Velvet really wouldn't begrudge him that, would she? Come to think of it though, considering how furious Velvet had been when William the Black had fallen in with the succubus queen, she might just want to stretch him out across a torture rack.

Giving himself a mental slap, he realized that these same problems were exactly why Zasalamel was dangerous, exactly why he had rationalized forcibly sending the three women back to the Tower. Besides, Rose had crushed the real Velvet under a half-ton of rock. No shade was going to slow him down by masquerading as an old flame. If 'Velvet' showed up he'd just carve right on through and keep going.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Roadside Fort: 30 minutes later

The Overlord inclined his head backwards to gaze upward at the ramshackle structure that he suspected Zasalamel was hiding in. At this close distance, it was practically an assurance that he and Taki had been correct. He could feel the mystic power pulsing out through the brown stone walls, power that felt as old as time. It was old, but not exactly mighty in his terms. To compare, all he could think of was that it was similar in mystical might to the power he remembered that the Wizard could wield. From what he could gather based on the minimal conversation with Taki, Zasalamel would be waiting behind a gauntlet of shades, and traps. Traps such as falling rocks, spike pits, guillotines, and numerous other fatalities. At least, that's what he would do if he resorted to setting pitfalls for an intruder. However, he despised such methods. Even if it meant his death, unlikely as such an event would be, he would rather look his enemy in the eye than hide behind a load of passive defenses.

He turned his head slightly to glance at the gaggle of minions tagging along behind him. They would probably be more of a liability than a help considering Zasalamel's tactical choices, tripping any device that he would easily bypass. Considering that, he sent all of the minions off to the left of the double doors to hide in the bushes. He didn't really care at the moment if some animal crashed along and killed all of them, he had hundreds of thousands more to draw upon if need be. Still, hidden as they were, his minions would probably still be there when he came out with Zasalamel's head as a trophy. Flicking his eyes upwards again he caught a glimmer of movement in one of the high towers, relatively speaking.

He muttered to himself, "**Perfect, I have to crawl through practically the entire ruin to get up there. Why am I not surprised?**"

Momentarily he paused, leering at the double doors that barred his passage. It was as if he felt that, if he stared long enough and with sufficient intensity, he could see right through to what lay inside. A foolish notion, but he did find himself wondering all the same. Assuming that Zasalamel could not summon the same shade twice that only left a few possibilities; The Wizard, as he had mentioned to Sophitia and Taki, Melvin, which did not seem a very reasonable choice given the almost contemptuous ease with which the grotesquely fat Halfling could be killed, Velvet, whom would pose no threat whatsoever… It then occurred to him that there was a foe in his memory that would, in all likelihood, kill him if the sorcerer possessed the power to summon it, The Forgotten God himself. But, no mortal could revive a god, could they?

Frustrated with his own musings, he snarled and kicked the doors open with enough force to send a brown high enough to clip the sun. The immediate passageway was narrow, poorly lit, and dank, but to his eyes it seemed illuminated by a dozen torches. He saw the cleverly concealed tripwires, patches of the stone floor where an ill step would send him plummeting to an uncomfortable position. But, with the doors open he caught a smell that floated on the air, carrying with it a certain sense of unquenchable gluttony. The smell was of roasted pigs. That was significant to him because it was Melvin's single favorite dish, alongside everything else the bloated Halfling shoved down his gaping maw. There was a certain, sick sense of poetic justice to that bit of information, considering Melvin's globular physique, if he could even dignify that blob with the term.

He smiled a cruel smile, egged on and elated by the notion that he could carve Melvin into tiny pieces with his arcanium weaponry, unlike when he had killed the bloated pustule before with simple steel that inexplicably had a hard time cutting the halfling's blubber. Oh, and not to mention how he had been covered in vile bile when Melvin exploded upon his demise. He made a mental note to take cover behind or under a table that would almost certainly be there, upon killing Melvin again. Or perhaps he could simply use his Shield spell to block the bile. Either way, he didn't want to smell like halfling innards when he returned home.

Taking several steps forward, stepping over and around the various pitfalls, he moved towards the opposite end of the passage, following the smell. As he rounded a corner in the tunnel a loud slamming sound echoed through the air to him. It was obvious to him that the noise was the double doors shutting behind him, so he didn't bother turning around to check. If Zasalamel wanted him stuck in here, then he would oblige the sorcerer until that meddler was dead on the floor in front of him, with his arcanium blade buried in the sorcerer's skull.

Ahead, there was a soft glow coming from a chamber, like the glow cast from several small candles, the kind that you would find on a banquet table. With that bit of information he didn't need to continually pause to sniff the air, focusing more of his attention on the possible traps that were marring the floor. From the chamber, he heard a muted squishing sound, and wet crunching in a rhythmic pattern. That brought him to one conclusion, he was hearing someone eating. No big surprise, but it confirmed that Melvin was just ahead.

He barged into the chamber and realized, somewhat amusingly, that he was surrounded on practically all sides by food, not at all unlike his last encounter with the fat halfling. Come to think of it, though his eyes could be playing tricks on him, Melvin looked even fatter than he remembered. Admittedly, his memory of the confrontation was a bit hazy due to being bowled over by Melvin, but he felt reasonably sure his metal picture of the halfling was accurate. The difference between that memory and the blob in front of him was rather striking. This Melvin was fat enough that the limbs were starting to vanish into the globe that passed for the halfling's body, it's, and he could only call something that grotesquely fat an 'it,' eyes were little more than slits and the tiny fingers that he could see continually shoveling food into the gaping hole Melvin called a mouth were big enough to be mistaken for sausage. Typically, Melvin was not paying attention to anything other than the food. But, if the halfling did not care enough about its life than it did not deserve to still be living it.

Confident in the strength of his arms, and eager to mutilate Melvin once again, his free hand closed around a large apple; "**Hey! Blubber boy.**" He hurled the apple with enough force to cause it to splatter against Melvin's head, but at least he got the blob's attention. It was nostalgia that had caused him to use those specific words, because that was exactly how he had gotten Melvin's attention the last time.

As he had hoped, Melvin turned from the pile of food and started to waddle towards him. It was now that he recalled a particularly vile thing about this fat halfling, every single step that Melvin took was accompanied by an explosively loud bit of flatulence. The stink was almost as bad as the green hive, made only slightly bearable by the competitive aroma from the cooked food around him. Melvin's weapon of choice, a golden fork, made an ineffectual swipe at him that he merely tilted his head to avoid before burying his flaming blade deep in Melvin's exposed belly. Upon withdrawal, he was shocked that there was not a single speck of blood coating his weapon, and backpedaled quickly as Melvin fell forward in an attempt to flatten him. He raced forwards to stand beside the halfling as it attempted to rise, stabbing again at the bloated sack of flesh, again without result. This time though, he noticed a few motes of green light playing around in the flames of his blade for a moment or two after he pulled his blade out. That led him to the conclusion that Melvin was being supported from afar by Zasalamel, and if this was the manner of support he could expect, then was quite relieved that he had not had to deal with this magic against Kahn. Still, the magic could not be all encompassing; otherwise Melvin wouldn't have been able to shovel down so much food. That thought in and of itself gave him his answer; he would stab Melvin in the mouth and incinerate the blob like he had done to the Forgotten God. In the back of his mind he thought it was demeaning to use the same technique that he had used to kill a god to also murder a fat halfling, but circumstance dictated his actions far more than he did when magic was involved.

He stood a good distance away from Melvin, trying to bait the blob into charging, and Melvin took that bait like a fish took a worm off of a hook. It occurred to him to jump out of the way and attempt to impale the halfling's head when Melvin hit the wall, but Melvin was far more likely to bounce off and keep going for a while yet before stopping and he didn't particularly want to dodge about all day trying to not be flattened. He stood his ground, bracing himself to catch the fat halfling and stop the roll on a dime. A last thought crossed his mind before his open hands met Melvin's greasy body, 'This is going to hurt.'

Melvin hit him, and the flesh of said halfling practically surged around his hands as his legs, and Melvin's blubber, absorbed the momentum of the charge. Quickly, he pulled his sword hand free from the prison of Melvin's flesh and drove his blade up into the mouth of the astonished halfling, sending a huge torrent of flame through the sword directly into Melvin's innards. Of course, the unfortunate side effect of this method was that Melvin was going to suffer a catastrophic case of indigestion and explode. Keeping to his earlier mental note, he fled to take cover behind a large table and barely managed to conceal his full form before the expected, wet explosion occurred, drenching everything around him with slime and bile.

Roadside Fort: Tower Chamber

Zasalamel sharply pulled his hands away from the floating orb in front of him, a natural reaction brought on by the pain of a burn. He was starting to become truly annoyed with this 'Overlord,' and now he had actually been injured by the flames that had destroyed his second to last fighting construct. Truth be told he was almost happy to be rid of that disgusting shade, and marveled at the kind of world that could give such memories to anyone. Really, it had been quite fascinating to sift through the mind of the Dark One before they had learned of his presence. Once they had, their mind had closed itself to him with a startling amount of speed and remained that way since. This, to him, spoke of a being far beyond mortal man; a being much like himself in many ways, in others, far superior. Unlike lesser beings, he did not feel a surge of fear; rather the knowledge aroused a scholarly sense of curiosity. He wanted to know how this being crossed the void with so little apparent effort. He wanted to know what that grotesquely fat creature had been. He wanted to know… well suffice to say there was much he wanted to know about the Dark One. Putting that thought aside though, the same Dark One was going to become a major disruption in his plans if his actions in the kingdom of Wolfkrone were any indication. He simply could not allow mankind to be oppressed beneath a tyrannical dictator. If that happened, then his glorious vision of the future could never come to pass.

Roadside Fort: Fortress Depths

The Overlord found himself following the passageways as they opened to him, doors swinging wide upon his proximity. It was obvious to him that he was being herded, but odds were that he was being led towards another shade, likely The Wizard. This knowledge pleased him, as there was no one else from his past that he could even consider Zasalamel bringing back to life, so to speak. Once he dealt with this last shade he should have a more or less unobstructed path to the source and he was starting to get quite eager to end this charade. Whatever nostalgia that he had felt fighting Melvin and the others was quickly being replaced by anger, indignation that his memories were being used against him and had directly threatened two of his Mistresses, possibly a third. He was quite aware of how Taki was warming up to him, and he to her, but now really wasn't the best time to dwell on such thoughts.

Another door opened for him just a few steps away, and the interior was lit, albeit somewhat dimly. Through the opening, he could see books, lots and lots of books. Now, either this pathetic excuse of a building had a library, of which he seriously doubted, or this was another memory. And if it was, he recognized the collection of knowledge that waited for him. A very long time ago he had been here, before he had been called Overlord, before he had sacrificed himself to "kill" his predecessor. He hadn't had much call to think about those days in a long time, but considering who he was about to face… It made his mind wander a bit.

The Wizard had always stood apart from his old companions, for more reasons than one. First, and probably the most important, him and the "pugnacious posse of hero's" would never have banded together in the first pace to do battle with his predecessor. Without that event he wouldn't be standing here right now, so, in an odd sort of way, he could consider that he owed The Wizard a great deal. Would that debt be enough to stop him from shoving a sword through The Wizard's belly? Not in a million years. What it would be enough to do, was make him minimize the pain this shade would have to endure. Was it a foolish bit of sentimentality? Most likely, but since when had that ever stopped him from doing anything before? Otherwise, the only other thing that came to mind was that The Wizard had been the only one out of that motley crew that he could recall speaking with him on a fairly regular basis, while at the same time never really revealing much about himself. Odd, but he had learned all he needed to know at a later date from the records that his predecessor kept, The Wizard's real name, where he had originated from, all the details that normally pass between friends but never were.

He shook his head to pull his mind from memory lane, and snapped his fingers in preparation for a mystical duel. He had been telling the truth to Sophitia and Taki, they wouldn't have stood a chance against The Wizard, for the simple fact that they could not generate enough mystical power to divert an oncoming magical attack. He could, but would not be able to muster enough to protect all three of them in addition to himself. Alone, he had a very good chance of winning, especially considering that the last Overlord had killed The Wizard without all that much effort. Was he being a little bit arrogant? Most likely, but it was sort of a hidden perk of being Overlord, he could be the single most arrogant person in all the world and no one would think twice about it, but he usually wasn't. He was usually just pragmatic.

Aware that time was slipping by, he entered the faux library with blade out and magic gathering in the palm of his free hand. At the opposite end of the long chamber The Wizard sat behind a desk, book open in front of him, looking for all the world like the wizened curator of some reliquary instead of a mighty wielder of magic. The man's staff was within easy reach, propped up on the desk a mere foot away from the wrinkled right hand that was turning the pages of the open book. The Wizard's head was down, but he could tell that the old man was aware of his presence from the slight instinctive twitch that the right hand had made for the staff.

The Wizard finally looked up, peering at him over the top of a pair of half-moon set of spectacles that gave off the impression of a disappointed teacher. "Erasmus, I knew you would find me eventually. It is a shame however, considering the circumstances."

He felt his eyes narrow, sensing that he was about to be on the receiving end of a lecture, before he responded. "**Mithran, pray tell me what part of these circumstances you find shameful. Is it the fact that this will be the first time I find myself put in the position of killing the real you? Or are you speaking of how I have taken up the mantel of the man you swore to destroy? Because if it is the latter, I ask that you spare me the speech on how far I have 'fallen.' I have already heard one from Oberon Greenhaze.**"

The Wizard, Mithran, stood and drew his staff to him with a slight gesture, a wry smile pulling at the left corner of his mouth. "Would you believe me if I said that I find both of them equally shameful? That you are here as the God of Evil, I find some way to blame myself. Perhaps, had I taken you a bit further under my wing all those years ago you might have not fallen so far."

Something The Wizard said, more specifically a certain title that he had been addressed as, caught his attention. "**Wait, are you suggesting that by slaying the Forgotten God I acquired the right to that mantle as well?**"

A sad expression crossed Mithran's face, accompanied by a sagely nod. "Indeed I am, though by addressing him as such means you have not ascended to that plane of existence yet. When you do, and I place emphasis on the word 'when,' I shudder to think of what you could accomplish. Still, I can comfort myself with the observation that you have expressed a certain degree of compassion up until now that is greatly reminiscent of your former self. I pray that you will not lose that somewhere along your road."

He made an astute observation; "**You sound as if you don't even plan on trying to stop me.**"

Mithran nodded again, resignation written in every crease on the old man's face. "You would be correct. The one who gave my body shape might be arrogant enough to think he can overcome you, but I like to think that I possess enough wisdom to know when I am overmatched. I could not kill the one who came before you, and you are far stronger than he ever was. I am going to try and die with a bit of dignity…"

He dashed forward and buried his blade in Mithran's stomach, driving the point all the way up through the top of The Wizard's neck to clip the back of the old man's head. "**Very well, old friend, die with dignity. Just stay dead this time.**"

Roadside Fort: Tower Chamber

Zasalamel looked on in something close to awe as his last combat-ready shade allowed itself to be killed. Even more than that, the conversation that he had overheard was absolutely stupefying. The Dark One was an ascending god! Yet still he was unafraid, knowing that whatever death he was due would only be a temporary setback to his plan. Was he going to go as quietly as the shade called Mithran, of course not. He understood that all men, himself included, would fight like wild animals when backed into a corner, and he had inadvertently done that to himself by taking residence in this tower. In that case, he had certain things he needed to prepare that would take time. That meant he would be unable to watch the interaction between his last shade and The Overlord, but such was life.

Roadside Fort: Tower Assent

The Overlord charged up the spiral stone stairway towards his objective, eagerness to finish the debacle eroding his earlier caution. But objectively he could find no problem with an extra bit of speed at this point, really, how many traps could anyone set on a staircase? One more door stood in his way, and this one remained closed as he drew nearer. It probably meant that Zasalamel was getting rather fidgety about the prospect of a face to face meeting, but that confrontation was now inevitable unless the sorcerer wanted to take a very long fall to the ground. Come to think of it, that would be a very nice way to kill him, and it was a method that he had not used to directly kill anyone yet.

Not about to stop because of a wooden slab, he lowered his shoulder and rammed the door. As expected, the wooden barricade practically shattered like glass under applied pressure, but when he dug in his heels to stop he caught sight of a familiar face. An unexpected one to be sure, but a surprisingly pleasant one considering the people from his past that he would actually like to kill all over again. Without any conscious thought a cruel, diabolic smile spread within his helmet, wide enough to show his teeth.

His voice carried the full weight of his malevolent intent, both from the past, and the present. "**Well, Former Mistress Rose, what a pleasant surprise this is.**"

Rose backed away from him, her usual, unflappable demeanor vanishing like a drop of water in the sands of the Ruborian Desert. "Get, stay away from me you big brute!"

Feigned hurt and brutal sarcasm were added to the mixture of sheer, cold malice flowing from his mouth, which only served to enhance the terror factor. "**Now Rose, why would you ever say such rude things to the man who tolerated your violent mood swings for close to three months? It's like you've forgotten all of the good times we had.**"

Indignation tempered by fear leaked into Rose's voice. "Good times? You threw me out!"

He dropped the act, but held onto the cold rage. "**Oh I am all too aware of that. It galls me to this day that I did not have the foresight to see your act of revenge coming, but then I remember crushing the life out of you with my bare hands and I calm myself. But…**" He seized the retreating woman by the neck, but did not squeeze. "**…I have always regretted the fact that I didn't take the time to savor the moment. That I snuffed your life out far too quickly in the name of rage.**" He pulled Rose's terrified face within inches of his own. "**A mistake I plan on correcting here and now.**"

Before Rose could make any objections, futile though they might be, he drove his right knee up into the woman's frail abdomen, probably rupturing a few internal organs with that blow alone. Next, while the only woman he could ever recall truly hating was busy coughing up blood, he brought his right foot down on Rose's left kneecap, forcing the limb to bend in a truly unnatural direction. The sound of bone breaking was simply icing on the cake. He released his grip, allowing Rose the opportunity to futilely crawl away from him. He was struck by the notion that it was times like this, and the massacre of that village back near Stonehenge, that there could be no doubt that he was every bit as Evil as the last Overlord, and he was perfectly fine with that. After all, he was having a great bit of fun right now. His victims might have a problem with it, but their opinion was rather irrelevant. Still, he could only milk this moment for a little while, so he looped his hand back around Rose's neck.

He picked the woman up by nothing but her throat and pushed her back against the wall. "**So, are you feeling sorry yet? Most sane people would feel guilty for killing their own sibling within moments of the deed, did you?**"

Rose was obviously having a hard time breathing. "I regretted it, when you started to choke me to death."

He used his free hand to drive a savage uppercut into the woman's tenderized abdomen. "**Is that so? You never even considered the fact that killing the wife of The Overlord would be an incredibly stupid idea?**"

Rose coughed up a mouthful of blood that hit his eyes, possibly an act of defiance, but that was neither relevant nor important. "It never once crossed my mind."

He shifted his grip to the top of Rose's head. "**Well, more the fool you are for lacking common sense. Die.**" With one effort, he forced his fingers inwards, crushing Rose's skull like a rotten grape.

Roadside Fort: Tower Chamber

The Overlord kicked down the last door at the top of the stairs; at least he hoped that it was the top. Despite the welcome chance he had had to beat the life out of Rose he was starting to get sick of this whole runaround. He could not recall Taki mentioning how capable Zasalamel was of defending himself, but he should at least assume that the sorcerer could use some type of weapon. What that weapon could be was up to his imagination to prepare for.

In the center of the chamber, that appeared to have been hastily cleared of numerous small objects, stood a relatively tall man with skin that, under the circumstances, reminded him of the very unflattering color of fecal matter. Zasalamel also seemed to have a case of heterochromia, as he was possessed of one golden eye opposed to the other being a fairly normal color. The man was garbed in large, white robes that wouldn't seem out of place in a grandiose ceremony and no armor at all from what he could tell. A very foolish thing, but at this point he was not going to complain.

Zasalamel's expression remained completely calm. "Well, Dark One, you are here far sooner than I expected you to be."

He lifted his blade into a ready position. "**Well I'm so glad to have surprised you. As a side note, I am pleased to hear that you at least have the dignity and vocabulary to call me something other than 'beast' or 'demon.' Those unimaginative nicknames grow quite tiresome.**"

Zasalamel nodded his head once, icy demeanor never faltering. "I could no less call you demon than I could call the sun a candle; your destiny is far too great for that."

He straightened up ever so slightly, surprised. "**A modicum of respect, I must assume then that you overheard my conversation with Mithran. The whole thing about me becoming the God of Evil?**"

A tiny spark flashed in the sorcerer's golden eye. "Indeed, The Wizard did say that you had inherited that title from a victim of yours. But he also said that you have not ascended to godhood yet. As much as I respect your power from my observations…" Zasalamel withdrew a large scythe from behind his back. "… My plan for humanity does not tolerate the presence of any god. You must be removed."

He lifted his blade the half-inch it had fallen back into ready position. "**It would seem then that we are at a cross-purpose then. Pity, if you had arranged your plan for my removal differently I could almost see myself almost admiring your tact and determination.**"

Zasalamel's left eyebrow infinitesimally twitched upwards. "And how, pray tell, would that plan have to be arranged?"

He slid his arcanium boots forward across the stone, closing some of the distance between them. "**Quite easily actually, all you need have done was confront me personally from the start. I admire that sort of bravery, although I suppose I would not have seen the lengths of your cunning in that event.**" He snapped the fingers of his free hand as a thought occurred to him. "**This reminds me, I've yet to thank you for allowing me to bury, rather violently, a hatchet with an old pain in my backside. Of course, that begs the question of why you 'revived' a woman that I hated.**"

The sorcerer stayed as still as stone, only his eyes moving. "Had I had enough insight into your memory I would not have done such a thing, but you closed your mind to me once you knew of my existence. I lost what you would call the element of surprise."

A wry smirk crept across his face, hidden by his helmet. "**Well, accident or not, you have my gratitude.**"

Zasalamel's grip tightened on the shaft of the scythe. "Bravery? Gratitude? For one that is destined to become the very incarnation of Evil you have rather strange notions."

He shuffled forward and threw a vicious vertical that connected with, and took a chunk out of, the handle of the scythe. "**Maybe, but I hardly think I would be charismatic enough to lead men if I were insolent and cowardly.**"

Zasalamel twisted the scythe enough that his sword slid off, and then spun the weapon around to bring the crescent blade up within inches of his face. Startled, he jerked his face backwards and swatted at the scythe with his sword, but his blade touched nothing. The scythe then cut in again, inches from his neck, causing him to back off again. As this event was repeated, over and over, he found himself at a bit of a loss. The continually spinning blade almost never had a definitive target, until less than a second before attacking. There was also a notable lack of weapon surface for him to block, or deflect. He had fought against swords, axes, spears, multiple bludgeoning devices, never a scythe. Technically he had never even considered a scythe as an excellent melee weapon, yet here he was, being driven back by a cyclonic maelstrom of, for lack of a better word, death.

His strength advantage wasn't much use if he couldn't connect with anything solid, and so far Zasalamel was proving quite adept at deflecting, rather than blocking, every ineffectual swing he could make. If the scythe would stop spinning for half a second he might be able to ascertain whether he was coming close to breaking the opposing weapon, but that was unlikely. So far all he could see was metal shavings littering the ground beneath his feet. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that he was going to have to make a guess, and if he guessed wrong the end result could be quite painful. He narrowed his eyes, as if by focusing his will he could somehow slow the swirling blade down enough to predict where it would cut across. He could always cast the Slow spell, but he didn't like being forced to rely on his magic, and the situation wasn't yet desperate enough. What did he qualify as desperate? Well, actually being wounded would be a good start. Using Slow on Isabella at their first encounter had been more a matter of entertainment than anything else because, though he would never say it to her face; her combat style had been rather ineffective.

The scythe turned downwards, and started to swirl around. He made his guess, and moved his sword to defend his head, if he was right then the scythe would catch on his blade and he could rip the weapon out of Zasalamel's hands. A moment passed, and nothing touched his sword. Instead, a sharp burning sensation spread from his side, from the slim gap in his armor that allowed him to move. He looked down, and the sight of the scythe blade extruding from his abdomen spurned something within him, awoke some sort of berserker instinct that made his left hand shoot down like a bolt of lightning from the heavens to grab the scythe, prohibiting Zasalamel from moving unless he wanted to let go of his only weapon. His sword flared down just as quickly, shearing through Zasalamel's left hand slightly above the wrist. Enraged, his right boot came up and kicked the sorcerer in the chest, freeing Zasalamel from having to make a choice regarding holding on to his weapon. His left hand swooped down to pick the sorcerer up by the front of the white robes before hurling the dark-skinned man against the wall with enough force to crack the stone. Furthermore, he ripped the scythe out of his side, spun it around, and swung the scythe like an axe to nail Zasalamel to the wall.

His breath was coming slowly in deep, heavy drafts. Already, his wound was mostly closed, but the rush of fury made him feel almost like he had tried to lift the entire Dark Tower by himself. He knew the feeling would pass, but he didn't regret a second of what he had done in the name of rage. He was a very vindictive man, and he knew it, which made this triumph all the sweeter.

A couple of coughs drew his attention to the dying Zasalamel, and he felt compelled to ask a question. "**Any regrets, now that your life is leaving you?**"

The dark-skinned man looked up at him, golden eye gleaming oddly even as buckets of blood flowed out of the wound in his belly. "None whatsoever. This…" The sorcerer gestured at the puncture wound; "… is only a learning experience."

He kept his eyes locked with Zasalamel's until the sorcerer died completely, then removed the scythe and slung it up onto his shoulder. Better to take a weapon as a trophy than a head, cleaner as well. Hopefully, there would be no more radical disruptions like this to bar his passage. Then, he realized something, his train of thought was almost exactly like what Zasalamel had professed beyond all else. He had a plan, and was intolerant of meddling. Truly they had both been at a great devise, and somehow that made this moment a little more memorable. Perhaps, given alternative circumstances, Zasalamel would have prevailed. It was strangely gratifying to think that he had faced a sentient being of, if not equal power, but equal, if not greater, cunning. He took a good long look at the scythe, noting just how much metal he had shaved off of the handle during their duel, and smiled to himself. If nothing else, Zasalamel deserved a place in his memories alongside the previous Overlord, as a great and worthy foe.


	11. Rectifier

Chapter 11: Rectifier

Dark Tower: Throne Room

The Overlord stepped out of the Portal, sword at his waist, trophy scythe resting proudly on his shoulder. For convenience he had simply jumped from the top of the tower Zasalamel had holed up in, opening the Portal as he fell. Had it been a stupid idea? Maybe, but it had been pretty damn fun. He didn't usually indulge in reckless self-endangerment, but then again, he didn't usually have the satisfaction of having survived a long, dangerous encounter by himself. At the time, he had been quite annoyed, but now that he was able to look back with a fresh mind he found that he had been having the time of his life. Frankly, he couldn't keep a smile off of his face.

At the other end of the hall, Isabella was seated on his throne, turned sideways so her back was on the angular arm rest. One heel was propped up on the opposite arm rest, and the other was bobbing idly in the air. Truly, that pose could not have been comfortable at all, but it was alluring. Frankly though that wasn't saying much because Isabella did things like that without much conscious thought.

The silver-haired beauty turned her head towards him as the click of his boots reached the throne. "Erasmus, you return unharmed, of course. I can only assume then, that Zasalamel has been disposed of?"

He presented the trophy weapon, planting the haft of the scythe on the floor. "**He didn't go quietly, but yes. I watched the life leave his eyes, and just about every drop of blood pour out of his stomach.**"

Isabella spun around on her rear end to set her feet on the floor. "I can assume then, that you fought the Wizard?"

He decided to be honest, and was aware of the fact that doing so might very well rub Isabella the wrong way. "**In point of fact I didn't. The old man allowed me to kill him, stating that his death was simply inevitable.**"

A shadow seemed to fall across Isabella's face, and yet her voice remained pleasant, even cheerful. "Oh, well, that is good news." She closed the distance between them to less than a foot. "In that case, I suppose that it would have been perfectly alright for all three of us to tag along anyway then?"

He started to open his mouth, to explain his reasons again, but before he could say anything something hit him on the side of the head hard enough to twist his helmet around his face. Even through the metal, or perhaps because of it, his head felt like he had been stuck inside of a church bell during Sunday services. A little bit stunned, it took him a moment to gather his wits enough to correct the skewed helm. When he did, and when his vision focused, he realized that Isabella was still standing in front of him. The part that caught his eye was that her right hand was red, inflamed, and just a little bit deformed. The implication was quite obvious; Isabella had punched him in the jaw.

He straightened up and shifted his gaze momentarily towards Isabella's mangled hand, "**Feel better?**"

Isabella seemed to be working very hard to keep an angry look on her face, and was gradually giving way to one of hurt, both physical and emotional. "Maybe, just a little bit."

He held his free hand up, wordlessly offering to examine Isabella's injury. When she complied he could tell that his second mistress had put quite a bit of force behind the blow, if the ringing in his ears wasn't enough evidence of that. From just a brief touch, he could tell that all of the bones in the back of her wrist were shattered, and out of place. This was a serious thing, because while the healing magic embedded in the arcanium was fantastic at mending flesh wounds, it really did a bang-up job with bones. As he explained this to Isabella, keeping her attention focused on his face, he gently slid his fingers around over the skin of Isabella's hand, moving as many bones as he could back into a proper position without any drastic shifts that would cause too much pain. Eventually, he trimmed the errors down to three dislocated fingers, and they would have to be reset the hard way.

He moved his fingers into position, to both sides of each maligned finger, and, admittedly, raised the pitch of his voice a bit in a way that sounded just the slightest bit condescending. "**Alright, now, on the count of three I'm going to-**"

Isabella cut him off; "Don't give me that 'on three' bit. You and I both know that you are going to move on two so I'm-"

He cut her off; "**Nonsense. If I say I'm going on three then I'm moving on three. Now, one…**" As soon as he uttered the word 'one' he sharply jerked each finger into the correct location.

The strangled gasp of pain was offset by another, albeit halfhearted, ineffectual punch to the jaw. He was able to clamp down on his amusement at this particular vice of his second mistress, but it wasn't exactly easy. Isabella's temper was part of the reason he loved her, but as moments before had proven, just as often got her in trouble. He examined his handiwork. The stretched skin was quickly repairing itself, much better than the bones would have if let be. The hand was still inflamed from the incident, but that would eventually subside on its own.

He released Isabella's hand, allowing it to fall back to her side. "**Well, I hope this little experience has given you proper motivation to never do that again. Hmm?**"

Isabella narrowed her eyes at him, masking her hurt as anger. "Don't leave me behind and I won't have to." A crack appeared in the mask; "You're the first good thing I've had in my life since I was a child. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

He gave her chin a slight nudge upwards. "**I do. You would survive, stronger than ever, and carve out your own place in this world, beholden to no one. Push comes to shove and you could probably take my place if it came to that.**"

A single, tiny tear rolled down Isabella's cheek. "Well, thank you for the vote of confidence."

Whereas Sophitia was always emotional, and wore her heart on her sleeve, Isabella was not. That made these rare, short glimpses of emotion all the more endearing. Truth be told she was probably stronger willed than Sophitia, but that wasn't a vice at all. Taki was still a bit of an enigma, but that would probably be changing relatively soon. Even when it did, he doubted that the ninja would become a gushing, bleeding-heart like Sophitia.

An irksome, if necessary, voice broke in on the moment. "Welcome back Sire." Gnarl performed another one of his 'emergences' from behind the throne. "While you were out your, lieutenant, in Wolfkrone requested an audience with you. Shall I summon him Master?"

It was obvious that Gnarl didn't particularly approve of his practice of recruiting other people to his cause, apart from additional mistresses, but this was one of those times where it was reinforced that it was his opinion, not Gnarl's, that mattered. 'Lieutenant' would obviously refer to Nathanial 'Rock' Adams, whom he had installed as the steward of Wolfkrone. The man had done surprisingly well, supposedly due to the fact that his father had been a merchant and he ran the country like one would a business. Not exactly the most exciting way to administer a domain, but he could not say it was anything but effective. He waved his hand to give Gnarl the 'go ahead' signal.

For appearances, he crossed the distance to his throne and took a seat. Isabella, completely true to character, and a little over the top, draped herself over his lap, belly down. For a moment he just sat there and laughed internally, before obliging his mistress by tracing a line down her spine with his left index finger, eliciting a moderate shiver of pleasure.

He could not resist commenting; "**My my, if you are going to be this cuddly after every time I put myself in danger, then perhaps I should do this more often.**"

Isabella shot him a coy glare out of the corner of her eyes. "Don't you dare, unless I'm there as well."

He smirked, and almost wished that his helmet didn't hide his face so well. "**Alright then, next large-scale conflict I find myself in, you will be the first I call.** **Does that satisfy your newfound sense of protectiveness?**"

Isabella's right hand idly traced some of the intricate lines on his armor. "Maybe, I guess you'll just have to wait and see." She turned her head to him and winked; "But the odds are rather good."

Any further teasing dialogue was delayed by the sound of the Portal, and the soft thud of Rock being propelled out of it and landing heavily on the floor. Of course, given Rock's stature it was impossible for a landing to be anything other than heavy. The White Giant looked rather well considering the terms on which they had lasted parted, the burns were mostly healed, and the way Rock walked suggested that his groin was at least beginning to recover from the savage blow he had been dealt.

Rock took a knee ten feet away from the foot of his throne, "My lord."

He entwined his fingers, resting his chin upon them. "**My, advisor informed me that there was some dire matter that you needed to inform me of. Or am I mistaken?**"

Rock picked his head up; "No, ah, I mean you aren't mistaken. There is a riot in progress at the castle gates. If it were just a few people I'd deal with it but, the whole city is involved."

He felt his left eyebrow twitch upwards. "**A city-wide riot? I can see then, your reason for hesitation. No people equals no city, and this is the capitol after all.**"

Rock's hands shifted from his knee to the haft of his giant axe. "Then, I ask again, what do you wish for me to do?"

He would have stood, but that would have involved sending Isabella tumbling down off of the raised platform his throne stood on. "**This time, I say you do nothing. I shall deal with this matter personally. Perhaps, I can nip this riot in the bud before it gets too far out of control.**"

Rock looked slightly confused by this statement. "But, milord, they are already rioting. What more can happen?"

Isabella answered for him. "What my dear, sweet husband is trying to say, is that maybe he can calm the people down before it reaches the point where he has to kill all of them."

He laughed, "**I doubt I could have put it much better, but yes, that is the gist of it.**" His right hand turned Isabella's face towards his own. "**Well? Would you like to come along? I would hardly consider this a dangerous situation, but you are welcome all the same.**"

Isabella sprang to her feet and snatched up her blade. "I think I will, after all, I never get tired of seeing you 'impose your will."

The innuendo was so thick he could have cut it with a knife. But with a great deal of effort he ignored it and waved Rock back towards the Portal, dismissing the lieutenant. He now had a rather pressing appointment with a mob. This could turn out to be either extremely amusing, or dreadfully boring.

Wolfkrone Capitol: Castle Gates

Ivy looked out over the assembled mob from the battlements, marveling for a moment at how a single city could hold this many people. Of course, the stone square in front of the gates was deliberately small so hostile armies could not mass for an effective assault, that made the crowd seem larger than it was with how it stretched back into the streets. Even so, the crowd must have been massive, upwards of a thousand, possibly two thousand.

She voiced her observations to Erasmus, who was standing slightly behind her. "It seems that Rock Adams wasn't kidding when he claimed it was a city wide riot, I think even I would get sick of killing before I got through that."

A light chuckle escaped from within The Overlord's helm. "**It's bloodthirsty comments like that which make me wish I had met you a long time ago.**" Erasmus took a step forward to peer down upon the mob. "**But city-wide isn't entirely accurate in this case. Look at the people, individually. There is a distinct lack of any real sign of wealth. What is assembled here is the vast numbers of this city's poor. The kind that are easily manipulated by the ranting of a single zealot.**" Erasmus tilted his head upwards as he looked for the back of the formation. "**If I call out that leader, and humiliate him, then the mob should dissipate.**"

She had only one question about the plan. "And, does this humiliation involve killing the leader?"

Erasmus nodded and turned to head for the stairs down. "**It ends with killing them. That much is certain.**"

She followed, commenting at length on the overarching idea. "This isn't exactly an overly complicated plan, you know?"

The Overlord seemed to take a long moment to consider his words, during which they both arrived at the interior side of the massive gates. "**I'm not exactly fond of complicated plans. More minute details are simply more things that can go wrong.**" He gave the signal for the soldiers to start opening the gates. "**Think of it like a chain of dominoes. Every single one must fall at exactly the right time, in exactly the right way for success. Me, I prefer to shake the table that the dominoes are on. Simple, brutal, effective.**"

While the doors were opening she took the time to glance around at the interior of the castle. Very few modifications had been effected upon the décor, mostly the simple replacing of a banner with the sigil of The Overlord. White stone still dominated the construction, set astride empty suits of armor that gleamed so brightly one might be inclined to think that they had been worn by gods instead of men. And of course, given the name of the country, there were wolf motifs everywhere; carved into the stone columns, emblazoned on the steel of armor, stitched into the very carpet that she was standing on. Some were so elaborate that she could almost think that they were alive. Now that was good artistry.

The Overlord waved for the soldiers to halt their work with the door and turned to her. "**I'd like for you to stay just inside for the time being. I'll signal you if the situation demands it.**"

Her response was an immediate question. "And, what exactly will this signal be?"

A wry snort issued from Erasmus's mouth. "**Honestly, if any more than two people die the mob will devolve into a frenzied hysteria. So, if I have to kill three people, you can rush out and start slicing.**"

She nodded, a wicked smile working its way across her lips. Inside, she was actually torn as to what she wanted to happen. Part of her, the violent and sadistic part, wanted the negotiations to fail. The part of her that was a bit more reasonable wanted Erasmus to succeed in whatever he did, that included these minor problems.

Wolfkrone Capitol: Castle Gates

The Overlord strode through the front gates of the castle, sword drawn, and doing his best to look majestically pissed off. Something he was quite good at acting out, in point of fact. The effect was rather instantaneous, the crowd shut up faster than flames could flare up on oil and they all backed away from him like a sane person would from a rabid bear. All was quiet far an exceptionally long moment, then a male voice in the crowd shouted something unintelligible and the shouting resumed. That told him that the instigator was male, or at least one of them. There could be a small group, but so soon after his takeover? That was slightly unlikely.

He stabbed his sword into the ground within easy reach, and crossed his arms across his chest. "**Let your leader come forth, I would like to speak with him.**"

The force in his voice carved straight through the mob and cleared an area around a lone man, dressed in the rags of what might have once been the royal guard. He beckoned, and the lone man was drawn as if tied on a chain, pushed as much by the press of the crowd as pulled by his will. Once he was within swords reach of the ringleader, he made a startling, if somewhat unoriginal realization.

He voiced his observation, contempt dripping from his words like acid. "**I recognize you, from that admirable, if exceptionally futile, last stand you and the former queen made against my undead hoard. The former knight-general of Wolfkrone.**"

The fallen knight looked suddenly enraged. "Former? I only lost my post because of your tyranny! All of the people here have lost because of you!" The destitute man turned towards the crowd, drawing energy and courage from the mob. "That is why these noble patriots of the kingdom are here! To demand our-"

He cut the fallen knight off, exasperation hitting him like brick to the head. "**Yes, yes epic speech is epic. Cut to the chase, what do you want?**"

The aplomb of the former knight vanished like a puff of smoke. "What! You dare to assume that you can buy us off?"

He started to develop a severe headache. "**You said it yourself. You are here to demand something of me. Out with it.**" When there was about to be another indignant outburst he continued. "**Think of it this way, if you don't tell me what you want, I can't even consider it.**"

There was a pause, and then a woman in the crowd called out, "We want Lady Hildegard back!"

A chorus of affirmations followed, and he felt his headache abate somewhat, "**That's it?**" He shot a snappy remark towards the former knight-general. "**And you never considered that I might have already killed her?**"

The former knight lost it, "If you have, then it will be at your peril!"

With wild abandon the ragged man drew a short sword and charged at him. While the foolishness of the act baffled him, he also smiled to himself at the opportunity that it presented. Whether they knew it or not, the fallen knight had just revealed himself to be a zealous fanatic. Killing him now was a perfect opportunity to end this headache, at least for now. There still remained the possibility that someone else would step into the void left by a dead knight-general, but he would deal with that if it occurred. As the crazed knight charged he remained still, as the short sword rose to strike he remained still, and at the last possible moment he slid out of the way. Following up, he grabbed the back of the fallen knight's head and slammed it down on the upwards-facing hilt of his sword, crushing the forehead of the man inwards as easily as if he had been squishing a fly.

He turned to the people, still assembled but held at bay by, or so he'd like to think, his charisma and his show of brutality. "**People of Wolfkrone, go home, and I will pretend that this whole thing did not happen, this time.**"

Slowly, starting with a single woman in the middle, the mob began to disperse, his idle threat hanging over them like the blade of a guillotine.

Wolfkrone Capitol: Castle Interior

Ivy thought out the 'conversation' that Erasmus had just gone through with the mob. Clearly, the people had been quite fond of Hildegard, why she had no idea. She supposed that the masochistic thing that she kept in her room might have been a decent ruler at one point, but that was firmly outside the realm of possibility now. Or, at least so she thought. Come to think of it though, this would probably be a good time to ask Erasmus about doing something to correct the, problem she was having with her pet.

Erasmus reentered the castle, right hand attempting to massage his forehead through his helmet. "**Well, that was rather bracing experience, wasn't it? I can only imagine how they would have reacted had I told them their beloved queen is now a depraved perversion of who she once was.**"

She suppressed the urge to laugh, because as bothersome as Hildegard had become the change was still amusing to contemplate. "Speaking of her, I have a favor that I would ask of you."

The Overlord's golden eyes locked onto her own; "**Something with regards to Hildegard?**" There was a short pause, and then Erasmus uttered a minor expletive. "**Damn, did I really just make that horrible rhyme?**"

She rolled her eyes, and continued; "All joking aside, yes, to both questions." She took a moment to consider her next words. "Well, to put it simply, she's gotten a lot worse. Whereas before she would simply hound me throughout my waking hours, now she will, and rather abruptly at that, wake me in the middle of the night. She then proceeds to beg for me to 'punish her.' At the time I am only so happy to do it, but…"

Erasmus held up a hand and she gladly stopped talking, feeling unreasonably uncomfortable about having to complain. "**Say no more, I understand.**" An angry sigh issued from Erasmus's mouth. "**Why must everything I do in this kingdom loop back around to that self-righteous woman?**"

She shrugged helplessly, and then took notice of a small bit of white in the otherwise black picture of her Overlord. There was a small, somewhat innocuous piece of parchment stuck into the belt upon which Erasmus hung his sword. She pointed this out to her 'husband.' Well, at least she thought of him as her husband. Or, how she thought women thought about their husbands… Damn it this romantic stuff was confusing!

Erasmus removed the small piece of paper, unrolled it, she assumed he read it, and then he started laughing hard enough to shake the walls of the castle. "**Oh, that is just too much. Ha ha ha ha!**" Eventually The Overlord vented enough of his mirth to explain to her what was so funny. "**I think…**" Erasmus offered the piece of paper to her. "**…That Taki has finally decided to take me up on that offer to decorate her room.**"

She took the note and read it aloud. "I am fond of Chinese and Japanese antiques. Not exactly a novelist, is she?"

The Overlord rolled his eyes, a move that also involved an identical motion from his head. "**Did you expect her to be? But I digress, this is a good thing. It will give me something to do while I mull over what to do with Hildegard, again.**"

She shook her head, "If you are going shopping, then I'd rather go home."

A devious glint appeared in Erasmus's eyes; "As you wish, Isabella."

The Overlord once again opened the Portal directly beneath her feet, and although he was not ditching her for some perilous situation she still screamed choice expletives before vanishing into the void.

Wolfkrone Castle:

Erasmus smiled to himself as Isabella disappeared, most likely going to end up in her room or the dungeon until he returned. When he did, there were going to be some harsh words, but he always found that part fun. Moving on to current matters though, he snapped his fingers and called for the seneschal.

The seneschal appeared out of nowhere in response; "Yes, oh most benevolent of rulers?"

The seneschal was an ugly, mousey man that had probably reached this point in life through sheer flattery. And that was no compliment. It made him want to brain the idiotic sod with every word spoken. The only thing preventing him from doing so was that if there was ever anything he needed to know about the kingdom, the seneschal would know it, more so than Rock Adams.

He didn't even bother looking at the man. "**Tell me, where might I find a decent dealer in antiquities in the city?**"

The response was hesitant, "Ah, well, not to-"

He added a note of menace to his voice. "**I hope you are not about to question why I am asking about this.**"

From the extreme apologetic quality of his voice, the seneschal had indeed been about to ask that. "Not at all, most gracious of overlords, I was simply searching my memory for one worthy of your noble patronage!"

He turned his head to glare at the mouse of a man out of the corner of his eye, "**Spit it out.**"

The little man all but squealed; "The Emporium on the main boulevard. Straight out of the gates, you can't miss it!"

He smiled to himself, feeding off of the fear. "**Good man, now go try and do something useful somewhere else.**"

Leaving the seneschal behind, he exited the castle through the front gate. Just in a much quieter manner than only moments before. There were a few peasants lingering in the square and they reacted like lightning had struck each one of them individually, scampering off into the maze of streets that probably held a refuge for the downtrodden somewhere near a sewer, or whatever. Speaking of sewers, he should probably invest in the infrastructure at some point. Slums were a part of just about every city, but they were often breeding grounds of malicious intent towards him. The poor would seek to blame their troubles on him, like they would have blamed them on Hildegard before. Best to stifle some of the seeds of rebellion before they sprouted.

Once he arrived on the main boulevard he was mildly impressed that his presence was not as drastically taken as it had been by the mob. Here, the merchants were simply going about their business like they always had. He was, at the moment, just another potential customer. It was actually rather refreshing to be honest. The stall-keepers hawking their wares pandered to him with as much, if not more, intensity than the other citizens. Possibly because they believed he had more money to burn, in which they assumed correctly. To pass some time, and to give himself a bit more time to think, he did browse at a few of them, even one weapon stand that had a rather exotic looking axe on display. He didn't buy it, but filed the design away in his mind to experiment with at a later date.

His thoughts turned inexorably towards Hildegard, and whether he should bother catering to the wishes of the mob/citizens. Sure he could just dump the current Hildegard back into the kingdom, but that would likely cause more problems than it would solve. The thought that he had done something so horrible to their beloved queen would drive the people away from him, might just push them towards full out revolt. He would rather avoid that, if at all possible. That left him with the possibility of somehow curing Hildegard's shattered mental state. But he didn't even know where to begin with such a process. He was good at destroying, corrupting, managing large expanses of territory, and managing the opinion of the masses. Fixing a crazy's mind, that was something he had never bothered to try. Still, if he could swing it, that would be the best option. The people would practically worship him if he gave them back their queen, and it would free Rock Adams to be steward somewhere else when that was required. Or he could simply use Rock as a living battering ram on the battlefield. That too, was a preferable outcome.

He glanced up, and became aware of why the seneschal had been so sure he would not miss the antique emporium. The sign that denoted the nature of business was huge, gaudy, and overlarge. But really, it was nonetheless effective. After all, it caught his attention, and that was the entire purpose of a sign. He pushed the door open, and entered.

Inside, the store/emporium/whatever-shop-synonym-you-like it was rather surprisingly well lit. Considering that he had never been on an actual shopping trip, he hadn't exactly been sure what to expect. But he hadn't expected something bright, cheery, and not at all musty. A little bell rang above his head, and a coincided with a rustling sound off in the depths of the shop.

From out of the back room emerged a rather rotund man that looked to be in his late thirties. The man whom he assumed was the proprietor was going bald, but the dome head look was working for him. Even if it didn't, the proprietor just seemed like a relentlessly upbeat individual, not at all bad for someone to do business with. At least he could count on a pleasant bargaining process. Haggling could quickly turn nasty with a foul-tempered partner.

The man beamed him a smile that could have lit up a cave. "Welcome to…" A spark of recognition flashed through the shopkeeper's eyes. "Ah! My lord, you honor me with your presence in my humble shop."

He nodded his head as a sign of respect, and extended his left hand. "**The pleasure is all mine.**"

The shopkeeper shook the offered hand. "Of course, my lord." The man leaned on a medium-sized counter. "Now then, what can Leonardo find for you today? I have silks from the deserts of Arabia and porcelain all the way from the Far East!"

He cast his gaze about like a net, fishing for something but he did not know what. "**Actually, I have a lady-friend that is fond of Chinese and Japanese antiques. You wouldn't happen to have much of that in stock?**"

Leonardo's smile grew even wider. "Of course I do, my lord. If you would just follow me to the back…" With a grandiose flourish the merchant led him through a curtain into a room that was far more to his expectations. "All of the finest jade relics, gleaming porcelain, and intricate woodwork you could ever need!"

He wasn't exactly sure which pieces he were looking at fit Taki's desired parameters, but if Leonardo knew what was good for him the merchant wouldn't try to sell him something that wasn't what he wanted. "**Impressive, now, let's talk price. What do you think is a fair amount for the lot of this?**"

Leonardo's smile faded, and the expression shifted to an extremely thoughtful one. "Well, for you my lord, I will part with them for a mere one-hundred and fifty gold pieces. A better deal you will not find anywhere else."

Inside the privacy of his head Erasmus was a little bit baffled. He had expected to pay at least three times that. But, he supposed that the rate of exchange might be a bit different here than it was in his world. After all, there wasn't a domain of dwarves churning out continual, huge amounts of gold here. That could have contributed to it. After all, he had upwards of a million in his treasury, and that was just in the small pieces, not counting the jewels and other valuables.

He snapped his fingers and caught the full amount in his left hand. "**Here is the one hundred fifty. If you bring the objects to the castle in, say, an hour and a half, and assemble them, you'll get an extra one hundred.**"

Leonardo's eyes gleamed with a gold lust that rivaled dwarves. "Of course, my lord! I will summon my men immediately!"

He smirked to himself as the fat man rushed off deeper into the building. "**Yes, you do that Leonardo.**"

Wolfkrone Castle: Throne Room

The Overlord stood in the grand hall, mulling over his intermediate decision to release Hildegard, provided of course that he could fix that masochist's broken mind. But then again, if his intermediate plan worked, he wouldn't have to lift a single finger. From behind him, as usual, the seneschal approached with his unique shuffling gait.

He didn't bother with any pleasantries, and voiced his thought and oddly enough, hope, to the air. "**Tell me, did the former Lady have any family to speak of? Preferably someone with which she had a strong connection.**"

The seneschal was obviously taken aback, likely thinking that he wanted to exterminate any close family to the former queen of Wolfkrone. "Well, sire, there, ah, her father is still alive."

His chin jerked upwards and he whirled to face the seneschal. "**If that's true why wasn't he the one commanding the troops? Or running the kingdom for that matter.**"

The seneschal's hands came up in a non-threatening gesture. "He, he can't my lord. He's, quite literally, insane. The former Lady was under the distinct notion that he was driven mad by the influence of the cursed sword."

He sighed to himself and muttered under his breath. "**There always has to be at least one snag.**" He glanced back up at the seneschal, "**Well? Are you going to take me to the loony or not?**"

A terrified squeak issued from the seneschal, which he quite enjoyed, before the mousy man set off in the general direction of one of the rear towers. He supposed that it made some sense, after all you wouldn't want the common people to be fully aware of the fact that their king was drooling worse than a lecher in a brothel. That would be crippling for morale, and not to mention discredit Hildegard's own sanity. He really didn't hold it against any of the castle dwellers for not informing him of this up until now, one deranged madman was no threat, no matter what power he might hold.

The seneschal arrived at a heavy, iron barred door and stopped. "I beg your pardon, my lord. But I know not where the key is for the door. The former Lady kept it with her at all times."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, and lost. Then drew up his right foot and kicked the door on the knob. "**Keys are overrated.**"

The seneschal started to chatter away. "Excellent form sire-"

He lightly cuffed the man on the back of the head; "**Shut up, seriously.**"

He entered the chamber.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Taki sat cross-legged on her bed, and she was still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it was in fact, for the moment, hers. She was a little bit confused, to be honest with herself. The man she had originally set out to kill had taken her in for no reason at all when practicality probably should have dictated that she either die or be ejected from the Dark Tower with extreme prejudice. Whenever she got to this point in the string of thoughts her heart started fluttering, unreasonably so. But a single thought of The Overlord, or Erasmus, as she had heard both Sophitia and Ivy call him in private, instigated that same feeling. Come to think of it, that was the reason she stalked him around the Dark Tower, she didn't want that feeling to go away. It was during a particularly sharp jab of said feeling that she had planted that tiny note upon his person earlier today, but, she really didn't expect anything to come of it. Either The Overlord… Erasmus wouldn't find it or would simply…

A sharp series of knocks on her door caused her to inhale a gasp of surprise, but the voice accompanying the knock was what really got to her. "**Taki? Are you decent?**"

The overall courteousness of the question was kind enough, that he even bothered to ask when he technically owned the entire structure made her heart start pumping. "You, you really need to ask?"

The door opened to admit the titanic physique of Erasmus. "**I didn't know, hence why I asked.**" His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, and she was under the impression that she was on the receiving end of a warm smile. "**I haven't received that kind of invitation from you.**"

It was a gesture of respect that she was not emotionally prepared for. But in fairness, she wasn't really emotionally prepared for anything. Still, the implication was that their relationship would only go as far as she wanted it to. Wait, was she actually considering… no, she couldn't possibly.

Erasmus went on, "**Anyway, I'm here about that little note that you left for me in my sword belt.**"

A flash of heat rushed to her face. "Oh! I, ah, that's, that's good I suppose. I um…"

The Overlord's head tilted just a little bit more, and the impression changed from a smile, to more of a smirk. "**Ha! You are absolutely adorable when you're flustered.**"

She was completely caught off guard, and her string of words was reduced to a bunch of sputtering. That was a compliment, even if it was delivered in a joking manner. That simple action lit something of a fire in her chest cavity, her breath became short. Furthermore, there was a sense of validation, like she had something of a purpose. The feeling was faint, but it was still there.

Erasmus shook his head slowly. "**Ah, but never mind.**" He turned towards the door; "**Alright, bring it in.**"

At his word a chain of heavily burdened men started filing in, each one carrying something that must have been worth her weight in gold. Anything and everything Oriental that could be considered art was represented, dragon effigies carved out of jade, a Buddha here or there, even a few elegant paper screens. Though, clearly some of them were not antiques, but that meant Erasmus had sprung for extra after taking her impulsively delivered note into account.

The Overlord gestured to the lot with a sweep of his right arm. "**Arrange the objects however you wish. These men will stay for now you aid with that. I'd do it myself, but decoration has never been my strong point.**" A small explosion went off inside Erasmus's helm, and she realized that it was a wink. "**I look forward to seeing what you do with the place.**"

As The Overlord left her room, he left something behind, a kernel of warmth that took up residence inside her chest cavity. For a long moment she just stood there, trying to puzzle out what she was feeling, and in the end her thoughts boiled down to a question.

The words slipped out of her mouth, barely louder than a whisper. "Am I, happy?"

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

The Overlord stood with his back against the wall in Isabella's room, with her standing off to one side, his eyes drilling into the back of 'Lord' Krone. Really, the man was a few cards short of a full deck even with a sane mind. But still, his presence and voice was having the desired effect upon Hildegard. There was a hint of that spark of defiance he had come to expect over the course of the two encounters that they had had before he threw her into the dungeon torture chamber. As for how exactly he had, and he hated to think of it using this word, cleansed the old man's mind… Well, he would go over that again only if he had to, and the odds were fairly good that he would. Really, it had almost been pathetically easy…

Her father's endless exhortations finally managed to break through, and the voice that came from Hildegard's mouth didn't exactly sound like he remembered, it sounded almost lost. "Daddy? Father? Am I, dead?"

The old man threw his arms around his daughter, weeping. "No, no child you are not. I can't even begin to describe-"

He cut Von Krone off, "**Much as I hate to cut this incredibly poignant moment short, you will have plenty of time to cry on each other's shoulders later.**"

Hildegard's eyes snapped open as wide as dinner plates, gazing at him with barely contained terror. "What! How, you-"

A short laugh severed the confused string of words. "**Yes, me. Now, I believe I am owed a 'thank you, my lord, for returning my father to me and graciously granting me my freedom.' I would seriously consider actually saying that, because I still despise you.**"

Hildegard's bewildered gaze swept back and forth between him, and her father. "But, but, how?"

He shook his head while releasing an exasperated sigh, his prediction had come true. "**I am going to assume that you are asking how I restored your father's sanity. I'm not going to go into explicit details, but suffice to say there was a sliver of Evil power, which I am going to assume, is the power of Soul Edge, lodged in your father's mind. It resisted my efforts, but I don't share dominated minds well. I forced it out by dominating his mind, not unlike what I did to you in point of fact.**"

A semblance of calm descended over the room, broken only by Isabella's occasional chuckle. In that period Hildegard seemed to take in the magnitude of the situation, her current state of undress, Isabella's patronizing smirk, and his icy glare. He found himself wondering what was going through her mind, but he could guess that it was along the lines of 'why would this completely Evil man bother with releasing me?'

He took his thought and ran with it, voicing his reasoning. "**Don't flatter yourself, I did this because your people were rioting about your absence. Giving you back to them saves me the bother of murdering an entire city. Freeing your father from the prison of his own head was simply a step towards the goal of keeping my subjects happy. After all…**" He added with a malicious sneer. "**I doubt your people would react well to who you have been for the last month or so.**"

A shudder passed through the young woman; clearly she remembered the events quite clearly, whether she wanted to or not.

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "**Now get up, I didn't go through all the bother of making you sane again so you could squat there on the floor. The people are eagerly waiting for you.**" When Hildegard still hesitated he added; "**Don't bother worrying over your attire. So far as I know your quarters in the Wolfkrone Castle have not been disturbed, you may dress yourself when we arrive.**"

Hildegard moved to obey, and what else could she do? To his amusement however, as the fallen monarch was passing by Isabella his mistress drew her blade and lashed the redhead across the back. Rather gently all things considered, but Hildegard still let out a gasp that was equally laced with pleasure as it was with pain.

Hildegard's father threw an arm around his daughter, glaring at Isabella. "Now why, in the name of all that is holy, was that necessary?"

A devilish smirk crept across Isabella's face. "I just wanted to see if my 'pet' for the last few weeks is the same woman standing in front of me." The smirk became a diabolic smile; "I have so much pity for the first man you take to your bed. The poor fellow won't know what to do."

A few things happened at once: Hildegard looked completely mortified, Hildegard's father looked about ready to murder Isabella on the spot, and he could barely breathe he was laughing so hard. Then in a single breath he recovered his composure and all but kicked Hildegard and her father down the stairs. On the morrow, he was going to get a 'royal' escort to Ostrhinesburg, whether Hildegard liked it or not.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters: three hours later

Taki shooed the last of the working men out of her room, and swiftly shut the door behind them. She then turned back towards the formerly empty space behind her and marveled at the transformation. Words mostly failed her, and all she could think was that the new decoration gave the space a delightful, rustic beauty. A thought occurred to her, and she was deeply embarrassed by how arrogant it made her sound, that even the Empress of Japan wasn't worthy of this space. She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror across the room and noted that the crimson flush on her face crept all the way down her neck, but there was a tiny smile on her lips regardless.

A mild knock on her door jarred her thoughts back to reality, and forced her to stifle a surprised yelp. "It's, the door is open."

The Overlord slid into the room with effortless suave, that she only halfheartedly tried to resist. Once inside, Erasmus remained silent as his glowing eyes roamed around, taking in the new setting. For a moment, The Overlord's eyes lingered on her, and then moved on. She, she was inexplicably furious about this, but bottled her rage up until The Overlord had finished his perusal.

Erasmus turned his gaze back towards her, and her ire was snuffed out like it had been smothered beneath the heel of a behemoth. "**I must say, you did quite well. There is something exceptionally peaceful about the arrangement. I almost feel like out in the middle of some alpine forest, near a tiny waterfall.**" Without warning Erasmus took two steps and closed the distance between them to almost nothing. "**You look like you have something you want to say.**"

The sudden, dead on advance caused her to stumble over whatever rebuttal she might have had and instead trail off in a string of 'I' and 'umm.' She also felt, that she was utterly humiliating herself, which hurt far more than the feeling had any right to.

Erasmus placed both the index and middle fingers of his right hand over her lips, silencing her like he so often did with Sophitia. "**Here's a radical idea.**" The same fingers slid up her cheek to her temple, "**Why don't you, at least for a moment, try to stop figuring your feelings out with this…**" Slowly, gently, and oh so sensuously he traced a zigzagging line down the side of her face, running along the top of her collarbone, and across the top of both breasts to stop over her heart. "**…and try letting this guide you.**"

A moment passed and nothing happened, then she felt something inside of her crack, and then break. Whether that was due to Erasmus's prodding or her own, she did not care, corruption be damned. Her hands reached out and grabbed the back of The Overlord's helmet, actually lifting her off of the ground so her lips could reach his.


	12. Open Combat

Chapter 12: Open Combat

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

Hildegard von Krone took one more step and finally reached the top of the rise, before starting back down and up the next one. It took an enormous exertion of will to prevent herself from letting out a groan of agony, made all the more difficult by the fact that she had been doing this for the last six hours straight! Worse still, was that The Overlord was only a step and a half behind her and she could feel the amusement rolling off of him like rain down a mountain. Purportedly, The Overlord was there because she was leading the way, but she was drawing a different conclusion judging from the depth of The Overlord's mirth. He was following this closely just to watch her suffer. On the topic of suffering, there was a dark corner of her mind where she was enjoying the pain, but she was trying with all her heart to distance herself from that piece of her psyche.

The Overlord's mocking; acid-laden voice violated her ears. "**What's wrong? I'd have thought that you would be used to this kind of forced march. Or, did you always ride about on a horse like a dandy?**"

She stumbled, but used the base of her lance to remain on her feet. "If you must know, my current state is as much your fault as anything else."

The Overlord feigned innocence. "**Why, I have no idea what you mean. Please, explain to me how your inability to keep a steady pace is my error.**"

Though she loathed recalling those days, and she knew The Overlord was toying with her, there was no other way for her to make her point. "You tortured me, and let one of your mistresses keep me as a toy for a month and a half at least. Whatever physical conditioning I had was ruined."

The chuckle that leaked from within The Overlord's helmet lowered the ambient temperature by at least ten degrees. "**I see. Note to self, never allow one that I care for to be imprisoned for more than a few days if at all possible.**"

If any among the battalion of men behind The Overlord heard any of that exchange, they either did not care enough to comment, or found the whole charade rather funny. The people of Wolfkrone had been overjoyed to have her return, doubly so for her father, but the soldiers had, to a man, shifted their allegiance to The Overlord. The Dark Lord somehow inspired them all in a way that she had never been able to, a loyalty that seemed to grow stronger with every passing day. On that topic, just yesterday one of the men had complained, rather weakly, about how sore his feet were. The Overlord had sagely remarked that the horrors of a forced march were often far worse than an actual battle, so he had buffered their spirits and their confidence for inevitable confrontation at the same time. Going back to the subject of the people, it shamed her to see that her general demographic, young women barely into adulthood, would swoon at the mere sight of The Overlord. It was a mild balm that he would rebuff every advance, casual, and not so casual. It was salt in the wound that it continued to happen.

Physically and emotionally drained, she caved and publicly voiced a complaint for the first time in what felt like years. "What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"

The Overlord's incredulous glare and condescending tone made her feel idiotic. "**Hate? I don't have time for hate. Hate is where you lie awake night after night thinking up never-ending ways to brutally murder another being. I simply loath the very fact that you are still breathing. And that is that.**"

Feeling compelled to at least try and recover some dignity, she argued. "And, what exactly is the difference between the two? 'Loath' is just another word for 'hate."

The Overlord rolled his eyes in an overdramatic fashion. "**The difference is that you are still alive. I should think that would be obvious.**"

Her attempt at debate turned around into yet another slight, she decided the wise thing to do would be to just shut up, but she could not stop herself from letting out a small sniff of disdain. That was of course when her feet slid out from under her, and her attempts to remain standing with her lance proved completely futile. For a moment, she just lay there, thinking to herself, 'God, what did I ever do to deserve this?'

The same Evil chuckle rattled her very bones. "**Well, at least you seem good for the occasional laugh.**"

She snarled as she clambered back to her feet, venomous sarcasm lacing her words. "Well, I am so happy to be the object of your amusement." A moment passed, no longer than a few heartbeats, and The Overlord's deep, booming laugh rang with a tiny note of hysteria. She found herself at a loss, not understanding how her rebuke had been so outrageously hilarious, and she asked the clarifying question.

An answer issued from the devilish helm almost immediately. "**Just, think about what you said for a moment. About the possible implications…**" The Overlord shook his head slowly. "**Although I would never let that happen in a million years, not while I'm still sane.**"

It only took a few moments of serious thought before the shocking, and absolutely horrifying inflection one could take from those brief few words came to mind. Her indignant and disgusted reaction came out instantaneously. "No, oh dear God no!"

Again, her horror only seemed to amuse The Overlord. "**Remember, you said it, not me.**"

She made a very obvious attempt to change the topic. "You never did answer my question before."

It took about a minute for The Overlord to fully reign in his mirth, but he managed. "**No, I don't suppose I did.**" The man paused, chin held in the air thoughtfully. "**I don't suppose it would harm anything to tell you why you earned my malice. Might actually get you to reconsider that attitude of yours. But I'm not holding my breath on that last one.**" The Overlord took one longer stride to close the distance so the conversation was a little more private. "**I am quite sure you remember the first time you personally tried to chase me down, yes? Well, if you don't, it was where I escaped across an abyss despite the best efforts of an army with more than twenty times the number of soldiers I commanded. It was around then when I, rather flippantly, saluted you before vanishing through the void right before your eyes. Then, this is what I am assuming happened; you hurled your lance through in a moment of blind rage. How am I doing so far?**" Her grimace gave The Overlord all the answer he needed. "**Well, before you jump to conclusions, you did not hit Sophitia, or Isabella, or even me.**"

Confusion caused her to hesitate. "I, I don't understand. I didn't hit any of you, and I still get tortured for weeks?"

The Overlord went on; "**Oh, you hit my advisor, Gnarl. You should remember him; he's the one that grabbed your ass on the way out.**"

The memory, and the violation of her personal space, sent a flash of rage flowing through her blood. "That, that wizened THING? I didn't kill it?"

The responding chuckle didn't help her mood at all. "**Quite the contrary actually, I simply brought him back almost instantly. Gnarl may be almost insufferably annoying at times, but I find myself rather attached to the old minion. A foolish bit of sentimentality, perhaps, but that is the way it is.**"

She remained silent, hoping that perhaps holding her tongue might put an end to the conversation. Then her eyes turned back to the road and she was astonished by how much ground they had covered, more impressive was how she hadn't even noticed her aches and pains the entire way.

The Overlord's head snapped up and his right hand signaled a stop. "**Hold…**" A moment passed, and she could have sworn that, in the black depths of his helmet, that The Overlord was smiling. "**… I hear the sounds of battle.**"

With something akin to glee The Overlord beckoned the troops forward before charging off into the brush to the left of the road. Left with the choice of either following or being trampled she hauled her husk of a body along at the best pace she could manage. That pace barely kept her ahead of the men, but her 'leader' vanished into the brush regardless of how hard she pushed herself. That was of course until she burst out of the foliage and slammed her face into the lower back of The Overlord. Adding insult to injury was how the Dark Lord barely reacted to being hit. But now she could hear what The Overlord had been talking about, the sound of sword on sword, crashing metal, and the screams of the dying. If there were a breeze she would probably smell the stench of death that pervaded every battleground.

She dragged herself to her feet and to the top of the small ridge The Overlord was using as a lookout post. Upon seeing the area that they had arrived at memories from one year ago swelled up within her mind, particularly her duel with the woman who had kept her as a pet for the last month, give or take a few weeks. That Ivy woman had skill in droves, but eventually she had been able to drive the older woman away, probably more due to the army behind her than a performance difference. That duel had taken place right where The Overlord was currently looking, on a volcanic morass of uneven ground.

The Lord of Evil shot one sidelong glance at the troops, ignoring her completely. "**Stay here, keep anyone from leaving.**" His left hand shot out and covered her mouth before she could object. "**Why you might ask? All three of my mistresses are of the mind that the arrival of your army last year ruined any chance of anyone accomplishing anything. Throwing a battalion of men into this melee would just create chaos. And while chaos might be fun, I'd rather clear out as many potential nuisances that are here while I can.**"

She still found a way to object, if simply for the purpose of being contrary. "Shouldn't we just move on to the Cursed City?"

The Overlord turned only his head to look at her, just to shake it condescendingly. "**Bad idea. I am of the mind that this many warriors in this spot means that the vast majority, if not all, of them are involved in the race for Soul Edge. I'm planning ahead for when I eventually get to Ostrhinesburg.**" The glowing eyes turned away from her. "**Now silence, I have a call to make.**"

Dark Tower: Dungeon

Ivy leisurely flicked the majority of the elf blood off the end of her blade and then, after a quiet moment of deliberation, ran a finger along the length to collect a bit before putting it in her mouth. Elf blood tasted a bit different from human blood, not as salty, a little bit thinner, and had an almost acidic bite to it that she could attribute to their magical nature. Did it disturb her that she had tasted blood enough to actually know the difference? Not one bit. Had she always been this bloodthirsty, probably not, but always having the opportunity to practically shower herself in it hadn't helped matters. But that was taking into account whether she actually considered it a problem, and she didn't. Was it possible that her connection to the alraune was causing it? Maybe, but again, she didn't mind.

Practically the moment she stepped off of the sand and back onto the dark stone of the Tower a sharp buzz in her head preceded the almost sing-song voice of her husband, fainter, but no less attention- grabbing. "**Oh Isabella, are you listening?**"

She laughed at the notion, and spoke the words out loud even as she 'thought' them to Erasmus. "Even if I wasn't, do you really think I would be able to ignore you?"

The response was equally glib; "**I'm sure you could, you're just that kind of woman.**" There was a pause; "**All teasing aside however, I believe I made you a promise to call you first next time I found myself in a perilous situation. And, though I don't think this perfectly qualifies, I'm letting you know all the same. A grand melee is currently underway right now in a volcanic area, interested?**"

Her mind flashed back to the events one year ago. "I know that place. I fought Hildegard there before her army drove me away."

A chuckle crossed their bond. "**Is that so? Well, I can't offer you a do over. But I'm sure that there will be plenty of other people for you to rip apart in lieu of our mutual target of loathing.**"

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'll be there." She hesitated on the stairs for a second. "Are you going to let Sophitia and Taki know?"

The response was glib again. "**Come now, you know that Sophitia would be heartbroken if I left her behind. I couldn't bear that. And Taki, well, she'd just feel left out. Can't have that, now can we?**"

Battleground: Outskirts

The Overlord smiled to himself, humming idly while toying with the point of his arcanium blade. In the brief spat of time between ending his telepathic discussion with Isabella and now at least five people had tried to kill him. Unsuccessfully of course but their skill had been sufficient enough to pique his interest for the giant brawl in front of him. Add to that the sporadic bursts of lava that shot up out of the ground and the upcoming fight was looking to be quite promising. He was mildly concerned about the welfare of his three mistresses but, as had been proven, he couldn't just leave them behind every time there was a slight threat to their safety. Isabella especially would come to resent him for it. He did not doubt their abilities in combat; rather it was the lava he was concerned about.

Coming to the combatants he could see, there was no generalization he could make at all. The warriors ran the gamut in every imaginable category. Men were slightly more prevalent than women, but that was somewhat in line with his expectations. The armor ranged from suits of steel that looked like they weighed more than his, to garments as skimpy as Isabella's. As for the weapons being wielded, he couldn't even begin to describe all of them. To be sure, there were many variations of a standard sword, some larger, some smaller. Axes and maces he could recognize, the occasional bow that would pick off one or two people before they were overwhelmed, there were even the odd fighters that were using no weapon other than their bare hands. Then there came weapons he couldn't even begin to understand, or simple weapons used in so bizarre a fashion that they seemed like something else entirely. He could have sworn he saw a man use a relatively simple looking sword to fly, simply by spinning it in the palm of their hand.

The subdued click of heeled shoes on the stone behind him alerted him to the arrival of at least Isabella. "**Take the time to do up your hair before getting here? I'm afraid that some overeager warriors forced me to get started without you.**"

The response was not from Isabella, but that didn't disappoint him. He could never turn Sophitia away. "I trust that they were, dealt with, without a hitch?"

He spun on the ball of his foot, tilting his head down to look at his First Mistress. "**Barring the fact that my armor would have closed any real wound I received within moments, of course.**" He jabbed his free thumb in the direction of the melee, "**Ready?**"

Sophitia nodded, and he took a second to admire how she could remain so pure, while at same time so blatantly Evil. In the back of his mind he found himself pondering why exactly he found the duality so charming, but that train of thought was overshadowed by the current situation.

Before charging in, an idea occurred to him. "**One last thing, I'm going to assume that the three of you are going to be familiar with some of the people out there. If you have reason to believe you can convince them to, shall we say, come to the dark side, then by all means do so. We could always use another reliable blade for the Empire to come.**"

Without further ado, he sprinted off into the brawl, flanked by his three warrior goddesses.

Battleground: Ten minutes later

Sophitia used her shield to swat aside the vertical swing of an axe, panting heavily from the effort of doing the same thing for the last two minutes, before finally driving her short sword into the tiny gap in her faceless opponent's armor at their waist. Her 'reward' was a pained gurgle, a spurt of blood, and getting to watch the man die. She immediately turned to the next person trying to cut her down, trying not to dwell on the lives she was taking. It helped her that the four people she had taken out up until now had had their faces obscured, via one method or another. The effect was enough so she could dehumanize her opponents, easing her conscience. She doubted that she would ever be completely comfortable killing other people, but this was the path she had chosen, to support Erasmus no matter what. Then again, she smiled to herself while thinking this, he really didn't "need" her help per se, but it felt good to give it all the same.

Speaking of The Overlord, she watched out of the corner of her eye as her lover throttled one person with his left hand and battled two other people with his right. In the space of a few heartbeats Erasmus used the corpse in his left hand to beat the other two to a pulp before swatting the entire bloody mess off into the lava far below.

Her lover immediately engaged another enemy, gloating while he did so. "**I am the Overlord! I am A number one baby!**"

Surprise momentarily made her pause, and she was lucky that she wasn't immediately involved in a fight, else she might have taken a rather bad hit. She hadn't thought Erasmus the type for that particular kind of smack talk, especially after the opponent was already there some kind of special reason, or was he simply having so much fun he just felt like it?

Knowing that Erasmus probably wouldn't be able to hear her over the din of battle, she resorted to trying to contact him through their bond. "Darling? Is now a good time to…"

Across the molten battlefield, and getting further away with each successive foe, Erasmus responded to her telepathic query as quickly as if they were alone in bed. "**Yes Dear, ask me anything you like.**" There was a slight pause; "**This is about that little one-liner I shot out a few moments ago, isn't it?**"

She felt herself go red in the face, dividing her attention between the person attacking her and the thought of how she was so transparent. "I just thought that it didn't sound like you, and I was wondering why."

In the distance she saw Erasmus crush the head of a woman in his left hand before the response came. "**To be honest, I'm not all that sure myself. I think though, that I have a theory.**" There was a delay in which she could assume someone else died. "**Putting it bluntly, these people are by and large pathetic warriors. But they are just good enough to keep me entertained, hence the bombastic gloating. I expect to be doing a lot more of it as this melee drags on.**"

She looked up, and cursed before hastily excusing herself from the mental conversation. All of her attention had to be devoted to the thing lumbering down the molten battlefield towards her, looking more like a piece of the landscape than a man.

The thing waded through the conflict, cleaving away with an axe that was bigger than her. "Let me hear you scream!"

The Black Giant was coming for her.

Battleground:

The Overlord slashed and parried mechanically, the monotony starting to get to him and dimming his hope of crossing blades with some kind of worthy opponent. What he had mentioned to Sophitia was true, and he was finding it more so with each generic warrior he cut fighters rushed him at once, and he merely scoffed before punching one in the face and off into the lava. With the other, three quick sword strokes and his sword wound up point on the ground between his opponent's legs.

He smirked, as a cruel idea occurred to him within a heartbeat. With one quick motion he brought the blade up with enough force to cleave the foe, a woman, from groin to the top of their head. He chuckled as the two halves fell apart, spewing blood and entrails into the space where the flesh should have been connected; "**Rest in pieces.**"

Momentarily granted a respite, he took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. He was standing on something of an island that wasn't that far above the molten rock below, slightly removed from the greater brawl. From here, he could conceivably hurl fireballs with impunity and devastate the entire conflict. But, that would be even less fulfilling than what he was already doing. Perhaps he should…

A grating, male voice sounded out a challenge, which succeeded in doing little more than riling his temper. "Evil creature! Taste my blade and tremble!"

He felt his eyes narrow to slits, before slowly turning around to glare at the red-headed, unarmored, immature boy that was waving a puny sword at him. There was some kind of symbol on the boy's shirt, relatively similar to a few of the images he had seen on some of the antiques he had acquired for Taki's room. Similar, but not quite close enough for him to think they were of the same origin. The blade was rather short, and had one curved side that presumably gave the weapon more cutting power. Of course, the blade smelled of steel, which meant that he could only be wounded if somehow the boy was good enough to stab him in one of the few places his armor did not cover.

The boy started to open his mouth again, but he cut the noise off before it could start. "**Don't even bother talking. If you wish to die in battle against me, then I would be more than happy to oblige you.**"

The child, he could call something this immature nothing else, merely laughed. "I see you are eager to feel my steel, very well! I, Yun-seong, shall be your end!"

He shook his head as the idiotic boy rushed him with all the subtlety of a thunderstorm, with only a hundredth of the potency. With an overdramatic flourish Yun-seong started slashing at him, and none of the swings even connected due to the minimal effort it required to evade each blow. He was only required to shift his torso slightly to either side, or slightly back a scant few inches, to have every single blow whiff by without leaving so much as a scratch on his armor. He wasn't even called upon to use his blade, which was even more disappointing.

Yun-seong seemed completely oblivious to his utter ineffectiveness. "So, it appears you have some skill. In that case, take this!"

The boy lunged at him and threw a kick that actually lifted Yun-seong far up off of the ground, high enough that he actually had to crane his neck back after moving out of the way to follow the motion. The sheer distance the immature boy traveled gave him a rather Evil idea; to get the boy to commit suicide. He purposely backed up towards the edge of the impromptu arena, close enough to the edge so he could feel the heat of the molten rock on his back.

He crooked the fingers on his free hand, gesticulating the words that issued from his mouth; "**Come get some.**"

True to character, Yun-seong did exactly that. The boy attempted to execute the same kick they had tried only moments earlier. This time though, instead of simply moving out of the way, he gave the doomed Yun-seong an extra boost outwards over the lava with a sharp swat on the back. Yun-seong screamed as the molten rock drew closer, and made a delightful sizzling sound as the soon-to-be corpse touched the magma. Moments later, an absolutely horrendous odor assaulted his nostrils.

He took a deep breath, commenting to the air his distaste for the origin, even though he enjoyed the smell itself; "**Oooh, nasty.**"

Behind him, someone, whom he could assume was female, shrieked out the boy's name. He slowly turned towards the voice, and found that his assumption was correct. A brunette girl was standing on the opposite side of the small island looking exceptionally distraught. She was holding a weapon that only just escaped the label of 'spear' due to the metal end looking like a small curved blade instead of a point. As for personal attire, or lack thereof, she was wearing something almost as provocative as Isabella, and again, no armor to speak of.

The girl glared at him accusingly. "He was like my little brother."

He shrugged indifferently; "**If that's true, then perhaps you should have taught your little brother to have a little bit more situational awareness. He might not have committed suicide otherwise.**" The girl started to move into what resembled a combat stance, and he let out an exasperated sigh. "**Look, you seem even less capable of a combatant than he did. Do me, and yourself, a favor by not bothering.**" A long moment passed where he could see the flash of doubt roll through the girl's eyes, but it faded away as soon as it had appeared, leading to his agonized groan. "**The absolute temerity of some people…**" He stabbed his blade back into his scabbard with an air of irritation. "**Fine, if you insist on being stupid about this then get over here so I can be on my way.**"

His absolute confidence seemed to shake the resolve of the girl, but regardless she sent a feeble, probing stab his way. To this he reacted by violently slapping aside the blade with his right hand, while at the same time delivering a sharp backhand to the girl's face. Could he be any more contemptuous of a lesser warrior? Probably not.

He snarled; "**That was a warning, and your last chance to walk away. Try anything else and you'll be eating your own weapon.**"

Predictably, the girl did not listen and attacked again with a swing towards his lower torso. This time he caught the staff of the weapon just below the blade and pushed back, hard, ramming the base of the staff into the girl's stomach, followed by a jab upwards into her throat. His opponent released their grip to clutch at their throat, and he rushed forward to trap her hands exactly where they were. He squeezed, forcing the girl's mouth open to gasp for air, before ramming the stolen weapon down her throat hard enough to have the base burst out of the fresh corpse's body near the bottom of the spine.

He glared into the corpse's empty eyes. "**Suck it down.**" Then he picked up the whole mess and hurled the dead weight off into the lava in the same general area where Yun-seong had perished.

Battleground:

Sophitia dove between the legs of the Black Giant with the dual purpose of avoiding the wild swings of the axe, and as part of an attempt to hamstring the golem. The first part of that plan worked perfectly, and the frustrated roar of Astaroth was evidence enough of that. The second part, not so much. Astaroth's skin was as hard as the rock it emulated, and all she managed to do was cause a pretty shower of sparks as her sword skipped off the back of the Black Giant's knee. She had lost track of how long this fight had been dragging on, as it had all blended together into an endless mess of diving to one side or the other to get out of the way of Astaroth's crazy powerful swings that she couldn't block even if she tried.

Astaroth spun like the wheel of a cart, holding his axe out at length, roaring while he did so. "Hold still you maggot!"

She ducked, and danced around the blade that threatened to cut her cleanly in half. "I truly hope you do not really expect me to listen to you."

The only response she received was another rage-filled axe swing. This one clipped her thigh despite her best efforts to the contrary. Was fatigue a factor, most likely. Her muscles burned beneath her skin, and her fingers were starting to go completely numb, to the point where she actually had to look down to confirm that she was actually still holding her weapons. She needed a way to end this so she could catch something of a breather, and the only thing that came to mind was somehow stabbing the Black Giant in the eye. That of course raised the question of how she was going to reach one of the eyes without getting cut in half. As Astaroth's axe slammed into the ground where she had been standing only moments before, the idea hit her. She stood still, relying on her precognition to know where the axe swings would theoretically connect, baiting the Black Giant into another vertical slam. It only took a few moments for that bait to be snagged; hook, line, sinker, and fisherman. The axe fell with enough force that she could almost have mistaken it as a blow from Erasmus, and she danced lightly to the side before using the haft as a step to launch herself, sword first, towards Astaroth's face. What she did not expect was for Astaroth to let go of the axe and snap his arms closed like the jaws of a steel trap, closing his eyes at the same time as if he sensed her intent. Then again, the golem didn't need to see when she was completely at his mercy.

What followed was, at the same time, both painful and humiliating. Astaroth slowly started to squeeze while all she could do was ineffectually slash and stab at his face. As the pressure on her lower spine mounted the sensation evolved. At first, it didn't feel much different than receiving an overzealous hug from a child, the comparison was, at first, more painful than the actual squeeze. Quickly however, the pain did become quite physical as she felt her innards being forced into a smaller and smaller space as her torso was compacted under the golem's power. She resisted the urge to scream for as long as she was able. But that ability evaporated when she felt, as well as heard, her spine snap under the strain.

Astaroth dropped her back onto the ground, and then kicked both her sword and shield off with obvious disgust before hefting the axe up again. "Any last words? You pathetic human."

Her eyes caught sight of a flickering shadow behind the golem, and she managed to smile despite not being able to feel anything below her waist. "Look out behind you."

The golem let out a snort. "You don't really think I'm stupid enough to fall for that-"

Taki appeared out of nowhere and planted both feet in Astaroth's back before kicking the golem hard enough to send the monstrosity tumbling off the edge of the platform. Although, there was a roar of rage that suggested Astaroth had managed to catch himself before hitting the lava. Still, he shouldn't be a problem for quite some time.

The ninja glared down over the edge after the Black Giant. "No, but you should have been."

She used her elbows to sit up, wincing a little at the feeling of volcanic rock on her bare flesh; "I think…" She had to pause to breathe, "…that I should be finding some way of thanking you for this."

Taki's head snapped up and her face suddenly acquired a very abashed look, like she was a teenager that had just been caught red-handed at something degrading. "What! Ah, no, you really don't."

She found herself smiling, in spite of her current predicament. "Taki, this is the second time you've saved my life. I'd feel less of a person if I didn't do something." A moment passed before she added; "That, and I feel I owe you for the broken ribs as well."

Taki gingerly scooped her up, an expression of disbelief on the ninja's face. "You are still completely magnanimous, unbelievable."

Her smile morphed into a smirk. "And you are one to call me unbelievable? Ivy and I both know you finally opened up to Erasmus after he went up to visit you a few nights ago. The entire Tower shook, if you must know."

For the first time that she could recall, Taki looked completely embarrassed. But the ninja was rather good at holding her tongue, and did not reply.

She found this incredibly funny for some reason. "My, you really are new at the whole emotional thing, aren't you?"

A shadow fell across Taki's face; "As if that wasn't obvious enough." The ninja seemed to intentionally jostle her, moving the pieces of her spine around enough to force her to bite her lip to stop herself from letting out a cry of pain. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about this right now."

Battleground: Twenty minutes later

The Overlord waded through the fray, not even bothering to get in even a second-long duel with anyone before killing them. Ever since Taki had shown up with Sophitia cradled in her arms, informing him that the Black Giant had broken the blonde's back, he had been in a particularly foul didn't really think he was even here because he wanted to be anymore, this was now about exacting retribution through pain, preferably pain through immolation, or removal of every single limb. The second option offered more satisfaction, but he didn't really have the time to methodically remove the limbs from the helpless ruck in this melee. In lieu of that, a barrage of fireballs would do just fine.

As he walked on, a literal walking inferno, he reveled in the screams of the dying, of those that accidentally hurled themselves into the lava below to avoid his spells. The sounds of panic from those that were being wholly consumed, staggering around and setting others alight as they died, created a symphony of suffering. This was what made him the Evil Overlord; that he could wholly go off on a murderous rampage like this with only the slightest of provocation, without even a whiff of thought for any possible consequences. Although some could say that this was a justified fury, someone he loved had been hurt, that was, in reality, just a convenient excuse. Revenge was never a noble thing. It was just bloody justice at its finest. Did it really matter to him that none of the people he was incinerating were involved in Sophitia's injury? Not in the slightest.

Just as he was about to turn his flaming wrath towards the relative middle of this sprawling wasteland something caught his eye, or rather, someone. Out in the middle there was another small island that formed an adequate, makeshift arena. On that island there was a lone swordsman surrounded by a ring of other warriors. What was striking about this was that it seemed no one in that ring would dare approach the one in the middle. This meant that either the warrior was one of legendary renown, or was simply very good at acting like they were. A completely joyless smile crept across his lips, maybe, just maybe, he could end this day on a better note.

Battleground:

Heishiro Mitsurugi stood at the ready, slowly scanning his eyes across the assembled fighters that encircled him. He found himself sneering in contempt as they quailed away simply from him looking at them. This was the painful thing about being an infamous swordsman; no one would willingly challenge him unless they were new to the field, which directly translated into foolish, and poorly skilled. He supposed there might have been that one-in-a-million phenom that was as good as he was right from the start of their warrior career, but, as his train of thoughts said, that was a one-in-a-million chance.

His hands tightened on the hilt of his katana, held close to the side of his head. "That's it? Are there none among you that will even try?"

There was a long moment of silence where the warriors on either side of him shuffled their feet nervously; casting subtle glances to either side to see if anyone else would dare challenge the ronin. Not surprisingly, none of them so much as took a tentative step in his warning a voice boomed out of the ether, accompanied by a blast of fire that detonated dead center within the ranks of warriors along his left flank. Those that survived the initial blast were either thrown into the lava far below or shot towards him to be swiftly cut in half. Those that didn't ended up as charred body parts idly sailing through the air to land on the unsuspecting heads of those around him, or simply piles of ash to be carted away by the breeze.

Through the flames and clouds of ash strode a dark figure with the stature to rival the Black Giant, and this figure was unmistakably the source of the voice. "**I accept your challenge, swordsman, and I pray that you will be able to entertain me. More so than the array of pathetic children behind you at any rate.**"

He cast only a short glance towards the "children" to watch them all scurry away before focusing utterly on the dark figure in front of him. This same man practically oozed confidence. It was in the way they held themselves, their unerring grip on the ornate sword in their right hand, the cool brutality in their gaze. The same gaze awakened a flicker of something he had not truly felt in a long time, fear. But far from dissuading him, it inspired him. That the simple sight of this warrior caused him to feel fear was exhilarating in a profound way.

Something halfway between a smile and a smirk crossed his face, his spirit soaring with anticipation. "As you wish, but know that not even the king of Hell could stand against my blade."

The towering black helmet, somehow giving the impression of both crown and armor, inclined downwards to look at him. "**You will excuse me if I wait until we have crossed swords to decide whether that is just bravado or not. I have had quite my fill of boundless arrogance for one day.**"

He locked eyes with the titan, while at the same time eying the man's armor. Bare spots he could capitalize on, of which there were alarmingly few, might as well have glowed white to contrast the black metal. All he could see were a pair of foot long patches on the man's inside forearm, two identical slits on the sides of their torso, and the gap in the helmet for the soul-piercing golden eyes. Despite the totality of coverage, his opponent did not seem to be hindered in any way, which left him feeling conspicuously exposed in comparison.

His opponent struck first, utilizing a step-in thrust that was shockingly fast for such a large man. His response was so deeply ingrained that it was almost automatic, which was a good thing otherwise he might be dead already. He twisted his wrists, swatting the larger blade upwards with his katana before slicing at the inside of the armored arm. Quickly, almost too quickly to be believed, his opponent's blade spun around in their hand to a reverse grip, blocking his swing.

He locked eyes with his opponent again, and he could sense a subtle air of approval in the man's words. "**Not bad, swift reflexes.**" A shove put some distance between the two of them. "**And you automatically sought one of the few gaps in my armor. A very practical approach, commendable even. If only you knew how perceptive that move was.**"

He contemplated those last words for a moment, the possible implications. The most obvious of which was that his opponent assumed that he could not cut through the armor even if he tried. He wasn't particularly eager to test that, but then again, some people had big mouths and used reverse psychology to bring attention away from their weaknesses. Maybe it was worth at least one attempt, though if he was wrong his blade was going to hate him, at least it would if it could think. Trying would be no easy matter though, as each swing from the giant was crisp, controlled, and left almost no feasible room for error. Ineffectually hacking at an arm might just be his death sentence, but going as things were, being slowly driven back in a circle around the arena-like island was just as much of a death. He was holding, but he needed to try something before he ran out of steam. He shuffled his feet to the side, out of the way of a vertical chop, and put all of his muscle behind a similar chop to his enemy's forearm.

Battleground:

The Overlord saw more than felt the hit on his arm, and responded almost automatically with a vicious backhand that connected with the swordsman's face. Straightening up, he took a moment to examine where the blade had connected. What surprised him was that there was a small cut in the metal. It was closing, but the observation was not forgotten so easily.

He voiced his thoughts, something approaching admiration momentarily subverting his smoldering rage. "**A steel weapon sharp enough, and sturdy enough to actually wound arcanium metal, fascinating. I don't expect that you would be willing to share where you acquired that blade?**"

The swordsman climbed back to their feet, a bit unsteady due to the blow to the head; "Over my dead body."

A chuckle escaped his throat, again in defiance of his anger. "**That's rather the idea. But if you insist, I can certainly speed up your demise somewhat.**"

He dove back into the fray, allowing his anger to bubble back to the fore and lend a hint of extra speed to his blows. Was he still holding back? Yes, but that was rather unavoidable when faced with mortal humans. But he was able to hold back much less than with the other pitiful victims from earlier. True to his word, he started pulling his punches less, watching with sadistic glee as the wounds and injuries started to pile up. The experience was not unlike one he had with a victim in his torture chamber, just limited to his fists and blade for the pain dealers. It was even more satisfying to know that he was ruining a fine warrior. Prior to now he might have harbored thoughts of turning the swordsman to his service, but he got the distinct impression that he would be only marginally more likely to succeed at lighting a fire underwater.

He held up his hand and pinched his fingers closed on the swordsman's blade as it came in, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his face. "**When you get to Hell, tell them that The Overlord sent you.**"

With a sense of finality he slammed the swordsman's head down directly into the ground, crushing the skull as effortlessly as someone would break a twig. Was he a little disappointed, yes, but only because the duel was over. Otherwise he was almost happy, but he really couldn't due to what had set him off in the first place. Considering Sophitia's injury, perhaps it was about time for him to get on back, wrap up this little-

A voice violently broke in on his thoughts, a female voice; "You! How dare you!"

He thought to himself; 'Am I so unfortunate that I must suffer through the whining of a disaffected family member or lover twice in a single battle?' Then he turned around to behold the moderately tall, blond woman that was wearing a... some kind of kimono. He only knew that word from purchasing one for Taki, but the one he was looking at now had been rather heavily trimmed. She was also holding a paper umbrella, closed, the purpose of which he could not comprehend.

His tone conveyed his lack of interest. "**Don't tell me, I killed your lover? Husband? Brother? Possibly father? If it makes you feel better he put up an especially valiant struggle that I will remember for quite some time.**"

The woman looked taken aback for a moment, as much by his voice as by the words, and then she blew up at him. "You know nothing! I was supposed to kill him, to avenge my master!" She started to charge at him from across the entire island. "Now you will die in his stead!"

He was, understandably, a little bit puzzled by the outburst. That, and the fact that this woman was apparently unarmed and charging him like a berserker. What was she going to do, engage in a proverbial slap-fight with her umbrella? Although, the way one of the woman's hands hovered over the bottom end of the umbrella struck him as rather suspicious. Could someone actually hide a blade in something that small? Deciding to err on the side of caution he braced himself, but was still unsure what exactly he was readying himself for. His caution was rewarded when his left hand was in a perfect spot to intercept the knife that flashed out of the umbrella, however, that action left him with a knife hole in the palm of his hand. A little shocked by the speed, he was in no position to do anything about the top end of the umbrella going for his face. The point hit him on the nose. It wasn't painful, indeed it pissed him off more than anything else, but in the back of his mind he acknowledged that the girl was quite good. Blinded as he was by the floral-print monstrosity in his face he reacted the best he could, by swinging his left arm like one would swing a club, with no particular skill or special purpose behind the blow, fingers splayed to maximize his odds of connecting with something. And connect he did, with something soft, squeezable, and yet firm enough to carry the woman away from him and, more importantly, get the umbrella away from his face.

With his sight clear he followed the brief aerial antics of the woman, namely the flailing, before watching the blond land rather roughly on their rear end. She looked rather shocked, as if this were the first time she had failed to kill someone within that first rush. A thoroughly idiotic outlook, everything was bound to fail at least once. It was simply a matter of time. The trick was to have a contingency in place for the eventuality of failure. It gave him the impression that the woman was quite a bit younger than he had at first expected.

The girl sprang back to her feet, shock shifting to outrage in the space of a heartbeat, "You, how…" She went red in the face; "How dare you!"

He was a little bit confused, and related that, with a note of humor mixed in. "**How dare I what? You will need to be quite a bit more specific than that. I get accused of things on a regular basis.**"

The blush intensified, and the girl seemed no closer to actually articulating what she was trying to say, either because she was humiliated or phenomenally enraged. "You, you… You grabbed my…"

The realization hit him, and he found it monumentally funny. "**Your ass? Not to put too fine a point on it, but I can hardly be held accountable for what I hit when you shove that pink and purple abomination in my face. Really, you should feel lucky that I didn't think to use my sword. Now, that would have been a real pain in the ass.**" He chuckled, but at the same time mentally chastised himself for voicing such a terrible pun.

The girl completely lost it and rushed him again, only this time there was no semblance of strategy at all, only sheer berserker fury. With that realization, also came the thought of toying around a bit before calling it a day. At the last possible moment he sidestepped the girl's rush, and gave her a light shove to the back of the head as she passed by. The action itself reminded him somewhat of what he frequently had done with the unicorns in Evernight Forest, before he had exterminated them anyway. The only difference was that in those cases he had decapitated the beasts instead of toying around with them.

As the young woman stumbled and eventually fell flat on her face he struck a dramatic pose and uttered one word, "**Ole!**"

She rushed him again, this time trying to kick him in the stomach. His free hand snapped forward and seized the outstretched foot as it connected futilely with his torso, before twisting it around and forcing the girl to do the same or suffer a broken leg. This same position also forced the girl to perform a rather humiliating hopping dance on her free foot to avoid falling flat, again.

The girl screeched at him, "Release me! Immediately!"

The situation, and his role in causing it, improved his mood by an order of magnitude, which was reflected in his words. "Of course, of course, I'll get right on that. Just as soon as you-"

The ground beneath him shook, which in and of itself was not worrisome. What was worthy of notice was the fact that he was standing in a volcanic area and any disturbance in the ground beneath his feet was a serious matter. Something similar to a dull roar off in the distance drew his gaze, and he was witness to a feverish eruption of lava that blanketed a good portion of the battleground in molten rock, a section that was dangerously close to him. Close enough that he was able to watch a little girl of around seventeen dressed in white and green priestess attire, what she was doing on a battlefield he couldn't begin to guess, get drenched in magma and promptly incinerated.

He let go of the girl and took a step away. "**Well, I think that's my cue to, ngh!**"

Apparently, letting go of the girl had proven to be a very bad idea. She had used the brief distraction to bury her knife up to the handle in his side. Furthermore, he reflexively swatted at the source of pain, which only succeeded in breaking the handle of the knife off. On the bright side, the girl was now completely unarmed. That was of course ignoring the fact that he now had a knife buried in his torso that his body would heal around. It would hurt like hell taking the blade out.

He ignored the continually reopening wound and started to sprint to what he felt might be a safe distance away, noting that the girl was still chasing him. "**You do realize that you're practically committing suicide.**" Typically, he did not get a reply.

He threw an extra burst of speed into his run to get some distance between them, and then opened a portal home mid-stride. If the girl following him was smart, she would escape the battlefield and that would be the end of their confrontation. If not… well, burn that bridge if he came to it.

Battleground:

Setsuka flat out sprinted to keep up with her quarry, barely managing to keep him within sight between distance and the fire falling from the sky. Truth be told, if she had been able to choose, she would never have set foot in this apocalyptic wasteland again, but she had known that Mitsurugi, with his boundless pursuits of greater combat glory, would find his way here. That, in and of itself, was the majority of the reason she was charging after this "Overlord" as he had called himself. Her entire purpose for, she couldn't remember how many, years had been killing Mitsurugi. Now that she had watched him die, it seemed only natural to shift her aggression to the individual that had deprived her of her revenge.

In some corner of her mind she realized that the little aside The Overlord had shot over his shoulder at her was true, she really was acting suicidal. She was completely unarmed, physically and mentally exhausted, and assuming that she caught up with her quarry, would be fighting on a battlefield of his choosing. Living clearly was not one of her priorities, but survival for the now was, as contradictory as it seemed. She only wanted to live so long as it took for vengeance. And that drive led her to one conclusion; escape this Hell on Earth so she could hunt down The Overlord.

Ahead, she lost sight of her target for a moment behind a shower of falling ash and flames, and she stumbled as the ground behind her gave way. Picking herself up, she coughed, choking on the volcanic ash that was likely mixed with fired human remains. And she ran again, blindly now as there was no other way, aware that at any moment she could accidentally step off of the relative safety of the collapsing stone platforms and into the molten rock below. She took one more step, and there was no ground to step on, just a cold void that consumed her.


	13. The Long Road

Chapter 13: The Long Road

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Taki silently watched Sophitia stagger to her feet, inwardly glad that she had been able to do something to set the bones in a more correct position before the arcanium enchantment had taken full effect. Still, her work wasn't quite perfect; Sophitia had a slightly more pronounced, permanent, arch to her back. It looked rather nice, she supposed. A little bit more elegant perhaps and, well, it made her chest a bit more pronounced. She wouldn't claim to know fully what men, and especially Erasmus, liked, but she felt that it was a rather good guess that The Overlord wouldn't feel all that different about the blonde. Behind her, the Portal pulsed and deposited Erasmus, along with a smell of fire and brimstone, in the chamber. Apart from the splashes of crimson blood covering his black armor he looked perfectly fine, although, did he seem a little more tense than usual?

Erasmus stabbed his blade into its sheath. "**Well, sorry if I seem rather abrupt but I hope one of you is good at fine detail work with a knife.**" He revealed a weeping wound in his side. "**I seem to be in need of surgical aid.**"

Sophitia's eyes went as wide as the saucer-like eyes of the minions, as did Ivy's, to a lesser degree. As for herself, yes she was alarmed but, like Ivy, she knew that it would take far more than that to kill Erasmus. Did it look painful, oh yes it did indeed. But secretly, she found herself cheering. Because out of the three women here she felt that she was the most skilled with a knife, after all, she was an assassin. Being good with a knife was sort of a job requirement. She knew how to cut out a man's heart with two quick movements; surely it was not much of a stretch to think she could perform surgery.

Erasmus's voice cut into her musing. "**Taki? You seem uncharacteristically eager to try your hand, in a literal sense.**" She felt she was on the receiving end of a smirk. "**Rather enthusiastic about cutting me open are we?**"

She felt her face start to burn. "How exactly can you be so glib about being stabbed? I'd be screaming like a stuck pig if I had a sixteen-inch blade embedded in my side, not to mention that the wound keeps healing and cutting itself open again."

Ivy made a sound that was clearly an attempt to cover a laugh, poorly. "Please, you scream like a banshee with a blade half that size in you."

It took her a moment to figure out what Ivy was referring to. When she did, outrage warred with humiliation while Ivy just started to laugh and laugh…

Erasmus cleared his throat, loudly. "**Isabella, much as I appreciate your vivid memory of our after-hours activities I think there is a better time and place for such comments. Ergo, not now.**" The last few words were delivered with quite a bit more force behind them than usual, and it sunk in with Ivy that Erasmus was in quite a bit of pain. He lifted his arm so she could get better access. "**Do try to do your work quickly. I'll try to remain as still as possible.**"

She did as asked and bent over to bring her face closer to the wound, suddenly rather hesitant to drive one of her blades into his black flesh. But, the knowledge that it would help more than it would hurt led her to slowly slide the blade of one of her knives into the wound. Something must have ruptured, because a small jet of inky blood flew out and hit her in the eyes. Undaunted, pausing only to blink the fluid away, she worked the blade as gently as she could while at the same time overcoming the healing that the armor tried to perform around her hands. When she thought she had a large enough hole she stuck her entire left hand inside to find the broken blade. Erasmus himself remained eerily quiet, not even uttering so much as a grunt when she accidentally tweaked something. It struck her that The Overlord's tolerance for pain had to be downright inhuman, but considering that he'd probably fought more cumulative hours than she had been alive and suffered more wounds than she could count, that made quite a bit of sense. Something sharp pricked her finger, which promptly started to burn, and she recoiled slightly before reaching in again and grabbing the piece of metal.

She tried to make her voice sound soothing, and probably failed. "Ok I-"

Erasmus cut her off, "**If you have the damnable thing just yank it out. I've been skewered by three unicorns at once, and had their horns break off in my chest. All three of which I had to dig out personally. This is a massage in comparison.**"

Leery of the comparison, but trusting Erasmus's judgment, she did as he asked and pulled the broken blade out with one sharp tug, sliding it free with the accompanying sound of meat being cleaved by the butcher and a fountain of black blood that hit her in the face, got in her eyes again. And some of it even went in her mouth and down her throat. Surprised by the blood spurt she dropped the broken blade to the floor, where it clattered to a standstill.

Immediately, the tension flowed out of Erasmus like a punctured vase, "**Oooooh…**" The Overlord rolled his shoulders, and twisted around left and right. "**I really can't thank you enough for that. I've had broken pieces of things dug out of me with rusty knives before I acquired the Blues, and not much better afterwards.**" After a few more stretches Erasmus turned to her and helped her up off the floor. "**You really did rather well considering this was your first attempt.**" There was a moment of hesitation, "**It was your first attempt, yes?**"

She nodded once, and then a thought occurred to her. 'How did the knife get there in the first place?'

Erasmus rolled his eyes and answered the question before she even spoke. "**Of course, that question does beg to be asked, now doesn't it?**" Erasmus took a moment to choose his words. "**It was right after I slew this one swordsman, exceptionally competent man he was, that this blonde girl shows up behind me-**"

Ivy broke in, "A girl did this to you?"

The Overlord shot a glance over his shoulder at Ivy, who was lounging on the steps by the throne. "**Isabella, will you let me finish?**" Seemingly satisfied with the minor rebuke he went on. "**She is, for some reason, enraged by me killing the swordsman, who had no blood ties to her at all apparently. Needless to say she attacks me, and blinds me by sticking this hideous umbrella in my face. By some stroke of luck I swat her aside and she becomes even more enraged, for reasons I found rather humorous. Now she has nothing going for her but sheer berserk fury, and I toy with that for about two exchanges. I have her by the foot, trapped basically, when the earth begins belching fire all around us. I take that as my cue to leave and let go.**" Erasmus paused for a moment, "**Anyone care to guess what happened next?**"

She responded first; "The girl blindly attacked you again, with no sense of self-preservation."

Erasmus nodded to her, "**Exactly.**" He continued, "**If I may, you seem know this person, or at least of them. Am I wrong?**"

She hesitated for only a moment. "Maybe, but first, this swordsman you killed just before she attacked you. Could you describe him for me?"

The Overlord related to her an abbreviated rundown of unique character traits, scars, hairstyle, attire, weapon choice… All in all there really wasn't much doubt in her mind that Erasmus had killed Mitsurugi. Made slightly more impressive by the fact that every time she had crossed blades with the ronin she had lost. And according to Erasmus he had been toying with the samurai, making her perception of The Overlord's skill skyrocket even further.

She started to open her mouth, to disclose the identity of the mystery woman when a loud thrumming from the Portal drew all of their attention. Slowly, the sound changed until a fountain of ash and smoke started gushing out of the water, along with the very person she had been about to discuss. For a long moment Setsuka simply lay there, coughing and hacking loud enough to draw a small audience of minions. Then the young woman glanced up long enough to realize that there were people looking at her, and the shock set in.

Erasmus commented belatedly; "**Speak of the Devil.**" Then he snapped his fingers and the small audience of minions pounced on Setsuka faster than fly's stuck to honey. With no apparent instruction, the minions started to carry Setsuka off towards the Dungeon, both parties kicking and screaming the whole way.

Erasmus let out a sigh. "**Well, I suppose that fills my schedule for the next several hours at least. First I have to forge Sophitia a new pair of weapons, and then I get to interrogate a madwoman.**" He turned his gaze upon the blonde and quickly added, "**That does not mean I am irritated with you Dear, from what I hear there was not much you could do.**"

Sophitia nodded sadly, obviously disappointed with herself regardless of Erasmus's unwavering opinion, and turned towards the stairs. To her surprise, the Greek mounted the steps with a saucy flick of her hips, before casting a glance back towards The Overlord. It was somewhat amusing to note that there was the slightest tinge of red to Sophitia's face, and a devious smirk had slipped over Ivy's lips. It was impossible to miss, so, did that mean Ivy was putting Sophitia up to this? As some sort of challenge?

Erasmus obviously noticed, and his tone reflected that. "**Well, in that case I most certainly am going to put a rush on that interrogation. A gentleman must never keep a lady waiting.**"

A tiny giggle slipped out between her lips, and she immediately clapped a hand over her own mouth, but the figurative damage was already done.

The Overlord turned to her, slowly, and stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, but was, in reality, probably closer to five seconds. "**You know. I do think that is the first time I have ever heard you laugh.**" Erasmus half-turned towards the Forge. "**It's a very pleasant sound, you should do it more often.**"

A few moments after The Overlord vanished down the stairs to the Forge a lance of pain shot through her head, forcing her to suppress a cry of agony. And as soon as it had come, the pain was gone, leaving her feeling a bit dazed. Suddenly, she really had no desire to do anything but try to get some sleep.

Dark Tower: Dungeon: Two Hours later

The Overlord took the steps down two at a time, holding to his resolution of putting a rush on the interrogation. Only the interrogation could be rushed because frankly, he wasn't the type to cut any corners with his metalwork, especially because Sophitia's life could very well hinge on the quality of his work. Sadly, he had not been able to work in his preferred metal. Arcanium was, regrettably, rather prohibitively heavy. Sophitia had tried to lift his blade once, and only got it about an inch or two off of the ground. Her wielding an arcanium weapon in both hands was not even worth considering. He had had, instead, a rather nice refresher with durium metal. It was both lighter and stronger than steel, and until he found something better it was the perfect material, for anyone except for him. It crossed his mind that his last thought made him sound like a monumental asshole. Far from it, he'd rather swaddle each of them in armor as effective as his own. However reality, not to mention each of their own personal preferences, would rather things be otherwise.

As he approached the section of the dungeon where he had ordered the girl taken he started to hear, rather abruptly, grunts of pain. This brought him a bit of pause, because he had never ordered for any torture to take place. Frankly, he had wanted at least a few civil words before he gave the okay for torture. If the minions had taken the initiative for once… Well suffice to say he would be extremely surprised, and then he would start followed the sounds to the Dungeon's sole occupant, and when he arrived he was greeted with the sight of the girl physically tearing her hands out of the wrist manacles.

He shook his head as he stood in the doorway. "**You know, that really is another exercise in futility. Even with your hands free you can't leave, no amount of pulling is going to free your feet.**"

The girl's face jerked upwards to glare at him, tears of what he assumed was pain streaking down her cheeks. Adolescent agony laced her voice. "What do you want from me?"

He crouched down and grabbed the girl's arm just below the angry abrasion left by the bonds. "**To start, you can stop mutilating yourself. I'm very particular about what goes on in my dungeon, most specifically who gets hurt or not. So why don't we just save you the trouble and…**" He cracked the cuffs around the girl's feet. "**… I'll just shut the door on my way out. Second, I'll settle for your name, as Taki never had the chance to mention it.**"

A look of confusion drifted across the girl's pain-ravaged face, "Wha, Why?"

He paused for a moment before answering. Something in her tone reminded him of someone he had crossed paths with a long time ago in the town of Spree, a little girl who, as brazen as you please, had walked right up to him and asked him "Why are you Evil?" There was something about the tone that implied absolute innocence, odd considering the circumstances under which they had crossed paths.

He stood back up, "**I'll put it this way, memories are far more memorable when they are tied to something, and names are particularly effective. Also sights, smells, sounds, basically any sense you can think of ties into it. In addition, I'm simply curious who would be mad enough to attack someone blindly while the earth was erupting around them.**"

She muttered something he was obviously not intended to hear. "Someone with nothing left to lose."

He pretended that he had not heard. "**I beg your pardon?**"

The response was an incredibly juvenile, "Nothing" before she fell silent again. After a long moment she finally relented; "Setsuka."

He inclined his head once, showing his slight approval. "**Well, Setsuka, in that case I have only one more question before I leave, and you can choose to answer me or not. Why did you wish that man dead, so much so that anyone else killing him is an unforgivable offence?**" After a moment he added; "**If I recall correctly it was something along the lines of avenging your master.**"

The silence stretched on indefinitely, with Setsuka seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from a spot on the floor inches in front of her own two feet. After about a minute had passed it was clear to him that Setsuka either would not, or could not, answer him. Was he angry, no, after all it was only his curiosity on the line. Still, the denial only made him want to know regardless, but he wasn't going to push.

He turned towards the stairs, taking hold of the cell door with his left hand on the way. "**Suit yourself, best try and get some sleep then, you'll be leaving in the morning.**"

Setsuka finally looked up, shock written in every muscle of her face. "You mean you're actually going to let me go? But…" She hesitated, clearly thinking that finishing the thought would be akin to digging her own grave. "…I stabbed you."

He snapped a crick out of his neck before explaining. "**And the reason for that is slightly obvious, even if you refuse to discuss it. I have enough presence of mind to realize that whoever that man was, he wronged you in some way that scarred you for life. Therefore you were seeking him out for revenge, a cause I can fully empathize with. I have done so on multiple occasions. I am not sorry for having fought him, as he was the best warrior I have encountered so far, but I am sorry for depriving you of whatever vengeance you could have exacted from him.**" He started to close the door, and added, as an afterthought; "**Oh yes, and don't panic when the Tower starts to quake. The structure is not about to collapse on top of your head.**"

Setsuka shouted after him, "Wait. WHAT?" But he had already closed the door and was already gone.

Wolfkrone Keep: Morning

Taki watched Erasmus lightly shove Setsuka out the castle gates, at the same time fighting a war within the confines of her own head against an ache that threatened to make her scream in agony. She wasn't exactly sure how good of a job she was doing at, but Erasmus hadn't mentioned anything yet, and he was certainly observant enough to catch a sign of pain.

The Overlord spoke to her as he walked back from the doors. "**An intriguing case to be sure, not enough so to lose sleep over though.**"

She voiced an observation, "She's not done with you, you know, for good or ill."

Erasmus chuckled lightly, "**And isn't that an ironic statement coming from a woman that tried to kill me as well.**" He went on, "**I am well aware that the odds are heavily stacked in favor of running into Setsuka again, especially due to the fact that we're probably bound for the same destination.**"

Her head started the throb, but she continued to ignore it. "You really think she'll still go to Ostrhinesburg?"

The Overlord nodded once. "**No doubt in my mind, even though her reason for chasing the conflict is gone.**" He shot a glance over his shoulder as the gates fully closed. "**Call me crazy, but I got the impression off of her of a little girl that was forced to grow up far too quickly. Whatever happened… Well, never mind that. I'll either learn or I won't, no point in speculating.**" His gaze fell back to her, and she suddenly felt herself under intense scrutiny. "**Taki, are you feeling alright? You seem a bit strung out.**"

She denied it, even though her head was splitting open like a wooden log in a fire. "I'm fine, really I am." Then the pain inside her head exploded to unfathomable levels and she fell to her knees. "Ok, maybe I'm not.

Her world went black.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters: 3 hours later

Taki felt her eyes snap open, momentary panic setting for a few seconds until she realized that she was lying in her own bed. How did she know? The overall feel of the mattress, coupled with the dominating presence she felt close at hand. Erasmus had a very distinctive aura.

The Overlord spoke, an amused lilt to his voice. "**Well, you don't expect to see that happen every day. A lover to fall unconscious and black vapor start pouring from every orifice, and I mean every orifice.**"

She slowly sat up, noting quickly enough that she was naked save the sheet. "Please tell me you aren't saying what I think you're saying."

Erasmus's eyes pinched together slightly at the corners, a sign that he was smiling. "**That would depend on what you think I'm saying. But yes, although it has stopped by now.**"

She put a hand to her forehead, though the ache was gone to her significant relief. "Anything else I should be made aware of?"

Erasmus's smile vanished, "**Your eyes have changed to resemble Sophitia's, with the notable monochrome hue. Ergo, all black.**" He held up a hand just before she was about to screech an objection. "**Before you panic, I have a bit of a theory as to the how, if you want to hear it.**"

Feeling utterly flabbergasted, she could only give her approval with a nod of her head.

Erasmus lowered his hand, and the tone of his voice. An obvious, if extremely welcome, attempt to calm her down. "**My thoughts stem from that bit of surgery you performed yesterday, and how you got a face full of my blood.**" He paused for a brief moment. "**Now try not to take this as arrogance, but I am essentially the avatar of Evil. As such, raw Evil energy flows through my body as much as, if not more so, than my blood.**"

She shook her head, "I could understand the eyes with that, but the vapor?"

He nodded, "**To understand that you would need to have seen raw Evil leave a corpse. I've seen that happen many, many times. Evil is, and I hate describing it as such, like an infection, a virus. It grows, multiplies over time, and occasionally drives its host completely mad. You should know this, you beheaded someone that Evil affected thusly, Kahn.**"

It was a lot to take in, but she was giving it a valiant effort. "Then, why exactly didn't I see anything then?"

The Overlord shrugged. "**I couldn't say for sure, but I would guess that it is due to the fact that magic is not a central part of what you are.**" Erasmus stood, starting to head for the door. "**Oh yes, one last thing. Apparently, the raw Evil leaking out of you didn't like whatever enchantments you had woven into your…**" Eventually he picked out a word. "**… outfit, and dissolved the thing out of hand. So I'd find something else you like to wear, quickly.**" His eyes pinched together again, and he was clearly being optimistic. "**If you can't think of anything, I'm sure the servant girls would **_**love**_** to take you on a shopping trip.**"

Erasmus left, shutting the door behind him. She was left alone in her room, inexplicably horrified by the simple prospect of going shopping with a gaggle of giggling young women.

Wolfkrone Wilderness:

The Overlord paused to take a long look at the Wolfkrone keep off in the distance, admiring the way the light of the setting sun seemed to set the blanched walls ablaze. He then smirked as he fantasized what the city would look like if it actually was burning, his imagination going so far as to call up the smell of burning wood to aid the fantasy. Then he turned his back on the crown jewel of his Empire-Away-From-Home before striding off down the highway to Ostrhinesburg. Of course, he chuckled to himself, Wolfkrone was the only country on this side of the void under his dominion, so it was, by default, the crown jewel. But that would change, oh yes that would change… He shook himself from his reverie and focused on the task at hand.

With the benefit of hindsight, he now knew that on his previous excursion he had taken a wrong turn after having his escort demolished by Rock Adams. He had gone South at the next fork instead of North, and that had been his only error. From there on the road had been as straight as an arrow until he had dashed off to the grand melee, and by then he could see the supposed "Cursed City" on the horizon. If he could navigate his way back to that volcanic morass, and he knew he could, he could follow his eyes to his destination. That was of course barring any freak accidents of nature, like an earthquake. Barriers of the human variety were easily dealt with, one of two ways, either circumvention or straight up elimination. He wasn't too concerned with running into any serious opposition by this point. Anyone in this part of the world was somehow going to be involved in the rush for Soul Edge, which meant that most people would be by themselves. There may be that odd pair traveling together, but there wasn't going to be a real army facing him.

While he was on the topic, he found himself hoping that his battalion of soldiers had survived that eruption. Hildegard or no, those men would be quite useful inside the city, not for frontline combat of course, but to deny access to specific areas of the city. After all, it wouldn't do him much good to go through all of this trouble to acquire Soul Edge only to have someone beat him to it and flee. If they were all dead, well, he supposed he would have to settle for his mindless Wraiths.

Something up ahead, in the middle of the road, caught his attention. There was a circle of raggedly-dressed men standing around something or, so he could reasonably assume, someone. The hands of these men were filled with a small assortment of small blades, the kind ideal for highwaymen and footpads. What they were alone was enough for him to be disgusted, but when he heard a slap and a woman's cry of pain, that crossed a line, and royally pissed him off.

He muttered to himself; "**Nobody gets away with smacking around an unarmed woman in plain sight, or so help me…**" He stalked right up to sword range of the group and filled his voice with mock politeness. "**Gentlemen, whatever might you be doing on this fine day?**"

About half the group whirled about to face him, the rest looked up with a startled gasp. Now that he was closer he could see their victim, a young woman pinned to the ground with a boot wedged between her breasts and a grubby sword blade at her throat. He still couldn't see her face, but by this point it was irrelevant, he was committed.

The man he could assume was the leader, judging from the fact that he were the only one with a sword, immediately barked an order. "Kill em lads! This one looks like he might have some coin on him!"

At their leader's behest the half of the band that had already been facing him advanced, keeping his view of the girl mostly obscured. Their short knives glittered in the evening light like the blades the Greens used, but with nowhere the same wickedness. These were simply wretched men that couldn't be bothered with earning an honest living, so they gathered in packs and preyed upon those they could intimidate or overwhelm.

He sized up the five men advancing towards him and got a reasonable read on what they were going to attempt, and then he sheathed his sword. "**Alright, let the party begin. I think I'm due for another batch of slaughter anyway.**"

His words caused the five men to pause, then the center one sneered at him. "You talk big. We'll see if you still feel that way when you got a knife stuck in your belly."

True to his prediction the two men flanking the center one struck first, both lunging for his middle at the same time. It was then a simple matter to loop both of his arms and sharply bring his fists up, snapping both men's weapon arms like twigs. When the center man lunged in heartbeats later, he received a boot to the face, snapping his neck back with stomach-churning force.

He chuckled as the broken man crumpled to the ground, blood pouring out of his burst eye sockets. "**The foot is mightier.**"

A few twists was all it took to use the two men in his iron grasp as bludgeons to beat the other two advancing men into bloody chunks. He dropped the corpses, standing as he had moments before only with five fewer men standing in his way. Just to add that extra bit of awe and fear in, he started to laugh, a spot on impression of the laugh that had terrified Hildegard's army upon their first meeting.

The leader certainly looked terrified. "What the hell are you? Some kind of knight?"

The question actually brought him a bit of pause. True, he didn't have the formal title of "Sir Erasmus Kilgore," although it certainly had a nice ring to it, but in private Sophitia often called him her knight in shining armor, among other things. "**You could say that.**"

To his surprise the leader nodded with approval, before snatching the girl up off of the ground and pressing the blade to her throat. "Good, cause if you are a knight, then you are obligated to surrender. Or this pretty lady-"

When the bandit leader hauled the woman up, he simply could not contain his amusement. The woman, or girl, was Setsuka. Right now he had to be the absolute symbol of magnanimity. He was rescuing a young woman that had stabbed him in the side, leaving a weeping wound that had ached for hours, from a fate of gang rape and violent death. Just how, by the fates, did he manage to dig himself into these kinds of situations?

He calmed himself, wiped a tear born of laughter out of his left eye, and filled his voice with as much menace as possible. "**Are you sure that's wise, giving orders to me? You filth.**"

The utter contempt gave him the window he needed, drawing the leader's blade about a foot away from Setsuka's neck and giving him the opportunity to cast Slow upon the whole group. He took two steps forward and threw two slashes, severing four heads. Gore spewed from the severed carotid arteries of each victim. Drops of it spattered on his armor as he gingerly reached in and removed the offending blade from the ownership of the bandit leader, along with the hand that had been holding it. As Slow wore off, Setsuka almost literally jumped at her opportunity, twisting out and away from the grip of the bandit that still didn't seem to realize that he was missing one of his hands. Shock, and the horrid sight of a stump where his hand should be, eventually sent the bandit leader tumbling back onto the ground, screaming obscenities and empty threats at the top of his lungs.

He knelt down, placing his right knee upon the bandit's chest and seizing the man's face with the same hand. "**You know, you really should learn to watch your language around a young lady. In fact, I think you've already crossed the line.**" He stuck two fingers from his left hand inside the bandit's mouth. "**I think it fair that you never speak again.**"

With a slight twitch of his wrist he tore the bandit's tongue out of their mouth and, as it was the first time he could remember doing this, he was slightly disappointed by the amount of blood. The red simply dribbled out of the man's mouth like a mountain stream, but it effectively made the bandit quite mute, which was a blessing in and of itself.

He stood, allowing the bandit to scrabble a short distance away. "**I've already soiled my sword with the blood of your compatriots. So get running, or I'll make you even less of a man than you already are.**"

The subtle threat was not lost on the lone bandit, and he did start to run, leaving an inch-wide trail of crimson blood in their wake. He nodded with satisfaction, then, hearing an energetic scuff on the ground behind him, rolled his eyes before one of the crude knives jammed into his side, right where she had stabbed him last time.

An exasperated sigh escaped him, and he completely ignored the wound. "**I save you, unwittingly though I might have done so, from a fate of brutal rape and death and this is how I am treated? Serves me right for abiding by my 'heroic' notions.**"

With an air of indifference he reached down and grabbed the handle of the small knife, taking care not to twist or bend it this time, and slowly removed the blade. Then, he started to lift the weapon, and Setsuka, into the air high enough that the young woman was no longer touching the ground. An unintended consequence of this action was that he found himself having an eye-level view of her cleavage, which was quite substantial. Add to that the fact that the strips of fabric covering it had been mostly shredded by the bandits…

He moved his gaze up without real difficulty, to lock eyes with the young woman. "**Alright, enough. Out with it, what did Heishiro Mitsurugi do to your master that warrants this near-blind rage?**" After a moment he held up his free hand, summoning a few dregs of power to charge Evil Presence. "**I can force you to talk, but I would rather not do that.**"

Setsuka's face paled, "He, he defeated my master, maimed him, shamed him. He died old, infirm, and…" A sob choked its way out of her mouth and her eyes looked distant. "…well before he should have."

He nodded once and started to lower Setsuka back to the ground, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. When he set her down he did not let go immediately, but instead used his free hand to take the knife from Setsuka as a parent might take a toy from a child. He then threw the small blade off to the side of the road, where it struck a tree with a mighty, hollow sounding thud. At that point he released his grip, but did not allow his vision to stray, just in case she had any other foolish ideas. Overall, he was surprised by how accurate his first impression had been. Whoever this master had been they had obviously died at a very bad time, probably barely before Setsuka reached her twentieth year of age. There was no mention of her parents, so did that imply that she never knew them? Possibly, and it would explain why the death of her master had affected her so strongly. Waves of grief were practically palatable as they radiated off of her, stronger even than the grief Sophitia had felt for her lost children, and that was nothing to sneeze at.

As for Setsuka herself, she was just standing in front of him, worse for wear simply from being forced to relive the memory. She looked willing and ready to simultaneously rip his head from his shoulders and curl into a ball to cry. That cemented it in his head that her master was the only family that she had ever known. His heart went out to her, but at the same time he morosely remembered the twin stab wounds that she had given him. In the light of the setting sun she shivered, and he noticed that it actually was getting rather brisk. Funny how he never really seemed to notice temperature anymore unless someone around him did or said something. With a sigh he started to reach his right hand across his chest towards the clasp for his mantle.

Setsuka seemed to take the gesture in some other way. "What, what are you doing?"

He ignored the girl and twisted the clasp, letting his mantle unfurl in the breeze with a light click, before offering the black cloth to Setsuka. "**You'll catch a chill.**" After a few moments he turned his words into a light order. "**Take it before you freeze. I saved your life, I feel responsible for now at least.**"

After a brief hesitation Setsuka did as he asked, took the mantle, and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl. Though her face didn't show it, there was a glitter of gratitude in her eyes, an innocent light that reached into him and plucked at his heartstrings. This was of course tempered by the constant threat of violence, but nonetheless there was a seed of pity in his head that was staring to sprout.

He gestured towards the road, "**Shall we? Night is almost upon us and I don't see a good campsite anywhere nearby.**" He paused as she looked at him, baffled, before continuing; "**And I'll need that mantle back eventually, so you're not leaving my sight until then.**" Unbidden, a smirk crossed his hidden face. "**I don't see how that should be a problem. After all, we are both headed to Ostrhinesburg, and you are still unarmed.**" He didn't wait for an objection, just started walking with the expectation of her following. And it worked.

Road to Ostrhinesburg:

Setsuka numbly followed the man that had, moments ago, saved her life, and hugged the black cloth he had given her tighter around herself. The 'mantle' as he had called it, warmed her straight down to her soul, even the parts of her that it didn't touch or cover. It was pure bliss. But at the same time, thinking about what she was doing chilled her to the bone. The Overlord, as she had heard him called, was eerily persuasive. Otherwise he could simply be commanding her with magic and she simply didn't know it. Then there was the brutality with which he had dealt with the bandits that ambushed her, though she was hard-pressed to feel any bit of sympathy for them. But then he followed it up with the magnanimous gesture of offering his own mantle because he had seen she was cold. The duality of all these things was confusing her utterly.

Furthermore, she was completely helpless. She was unarmed, and even if she hadn't been there was ample evidence staring her in the face that it was completely impossible for her to kill The Overlord. He had been stabbed at least twice to her knowledge, probably many more than that. Furthermore there was the matter of now owing him her life. Could she kill him in good conscience, even if there was a way? He'd never directly done her wrong. Really, he had been far more tolerant of her than she had any right to expect. But…

The Overlord's booming voice broke in on her thoughts. "**This spot will do. Take a seat wherever you like.**"

Without really thinking about it she again did as she was told, taking a seat on a conveniently shaped rock and drawing her knees up to her chest and under the cover of the borrowed mantle. For a long while after that she barely moved at all, only using her eyes and neck to follow the movement of The Overlord as he built a fire using chucks of trees that he had broken apart with his bare hands, and lit it with a snap of his fingers.

The Overlord didn't look up from tending the fire, but she knew he was speaking to her. "**You're being rather quiet. Got something on your mind?**"

Her question came out as little more than a breath. "Why did you help me?"

The Overlord laughed and shook his head, still not looking at her. "**That question again. How many times will I have to answer that from here on out?**" He looked up and speared her with his gaze. "**I happen to have this thing called a moral compass, perhaps you've heard of it. It frequently interjects on what the right course of action is when I find myself confronted with the event of women in some sort of bind. And by 'women' I include females of humanoid construction.**" A wry chuckle escaped the man."**Would I still have intervened had I known you were the victim, yes I probably still would have.**"

She shivered in spite of the fire and the mantle. "Then, I guess I have to ask why again."

The Overlord prodded the fire with a sapling, and then slowly lowered himself into a seated position. "**I'm going to assume that you are asking about yourself given our, colored, history. To that all I can say is that I feel a bit of pity for you, for the way you have been forced to live your life. For what you have been forced to endure.**" There was a pause which was filled with the merry crackling of the fire. "**I don't remember it clearly, but I at least remember being raised by parents that actually cared.**" The next silence stretched on for a lot longer, until her chaperone broke it again. "**Well, I suppose you should get some sleep. We've got a long way to go until we reach Ostrhinesburg, a week at most.**"

Her eyes followed The Overlord's form as he repositioned himself, his eyes comfortably facing the road. "But, won't you need to sleep yourself? I mean, you can't stay up all night, can you?"

The Overlord just stared at her for a long time, until she wondered if there had been something wistful in her voice, some kind of subtle hint that maybe she was planning on trying to kill him again in his sleep. If that was the case, then he was probably weighing the option of just killing her off and voiding the risk. Building upon that, she found herself fervently wishing that she hadn't implied that harm was still headed his way.

The Overlord finally spoke. "**Your concern is ah, touching, but unnecessary.** **I require far less rest than ordinary people, and I had a very refreshing night just yesterday. I'll probably keep going for at least a week until I need rest again.**" After a moment he added; "**And relax, I'm not going to do anything to you while you're sleeping. I don't do that, unless I'm invited to.**"

The Overlord's eyes moved away from her and she relaxed, before she remembered what she had been thinking about only moments before her chaperon had responded to her questions. Further, she realized that she had been completely sincere.

As she lay down on the ground, seeking a soft spot to put her head, she muttered to herself. "I guess, that I've decided I can live with him not being dead."

Then she closed her eyes, and drifted off into troubled dreams.


	14. The Scent of Cherry Blossoms

Chapter 14: The Scent of Cherry Blossoms

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Campsite

The Overlord watched Setsuka out of the corner of his eye as the girl drifted off into dreamland. He noted that she was sleeping in the fetal position, shivering and crying out at odd moments. Yeah, that seed of pity in his head was growing at a rather alarming rate, perhaps to the point where it stopped being pity and turned into something else, like concern, which wasn't exactly far off from something else. She was beautiful, in a rather harsh sort of way, but really, he already had three wives. There had to be some kind of limit, otherwise he'd wind up like that predecessor of his that he had read about with twelve mistresses. He couldn't fathom how that man had cared for all of them. On a material level was a different story as he would never be short on gold. But emotionally being there for twelve women, that he could not begin to understand.

A particularly loud whimper drew his eyes back to Setsuka's restless form as she started to thrash about. That must have been quite some nightmare she was having, which brought up the question of whether or not he should do something. But he had said he wasn't going to touch her while she slept, so his hands were rather tied. Even if they weren't, what would he do? Hold her hand?

He lifted both hands to his head and slowly pulled his helm off before setting the elaborate headgear on his knee. A sigh escaped him as he used both hands to massage his temples. "**Is it just me, or do I seem to have a marked penchant for 'damaged goods' so to speak?**" He spoke to himself aloud as he rattled off the various issues his current wives had faced upon meeting him. "**Sophitia, her family was dead and she felt responsible, crushing her soul under a mass of guilt. Isabella, repeated betrayals of her trust leading to an all-consuming mistrust of everyone and everything. Taki, she was emotionally dead and didn't know it.**" He shook his head, amazed with himself. "**Of course, even saying that I wouldn't change a thing.**" A wry, insincere complaint issued from his mouth. "**Why exactly am I incapable of developing a relationship with a woman that starts with a simple, mutual, physical attraction?**"

On a whim he picked his helmet up again, turning it around in his hands so he was looking into the helm instead of out like he usually was. It was curious to note that, even with the light of the fire so close, it was patently impossible to see inside the arcanium art piece. A random thought hit him of how easy it would be to run a practical joke on him by simply putting something in his helmet, although that would imply that his helmet would need to be left upside down, which was a rather obvious tell.

With a deft flick of his wrist he flipped the helmet and caught it neatly on his head. A moment passed before he spoke aloud again, mostly to himself. "**You know, just because I can stay awake for a week doesn't mean I should. It'd be a bit different if I was by myself, I could just keep walking until I got to Ostrhinesburg.**" He cast a glance towards his charge. "**Playing nursemaid means this trip is going to take a bit longer.**" He leaned back against a tree, hands crossed behind his head. "**Although, I suppose it won't be so bad. Four days of walking in silence compared to a week and a day, maybe, with someone to talk to. Telepathy just isn't the same.**"

He started to close his eyes, and flipped them open again just long enough to summon a handful of Wraiths to keep watch in lieu of himself. Even if the road was mostly deserted there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. After all, take enough million to one chances and eventually the odds would catch up to you. He closed his eyes again, in earnest this time, and fell asleep.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Morning

Setsuka knew that she wasn't fully awake yet, but something on the edge of her senses, or else dulled by the twilight state of her consciousness, was beckoning to her with all the irresistible allure of wagashi, drenched in sugar. That, or she was simply famished and whatever it was, it was simply edible. She hadn't eaten in at least two days after all. Her eyes snapped open to the sight of The Overlord, and a large piece of meat roasting on a crude rotisserie over the fire. Now that she was fully awake, her mind settled on the "it was delicious" option and her stomach growled in anticipation. Although, growled was admittedly a bit of an understatement.

The Overlord glanced up at her briefly, and then focused his attention back on the slab. "**Morning to you to.**" He gestured towards the fire; "**I'm going to assume from that lion you call a stomach that you're hungry.**" A chuckle issued from within the shadowed helm. "**It's a good thing I caught a rather large animal.**" He tore off a haunch from whatever animal it had been and offered it to her; "**Help yourself.**"

She gingerly reached out and took hold of the haunch by the ends of the charred bone sticking out from either end. Lacking utensils, and left with no other course of action, she bit into the meat as daintily as she could, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

The Overlord seemed amused by this. "**No need to stand on ceremony, we're out in the wilds. That, and you are obviously starving.**" Sensing her hesitation he continued, "**Oh don't worry about it. I'd actually rather you hurry, then we can be on our way sooner.**"

Thus encouraged she dug in with gusto. It wasn't hard. Whatever animal The Overlord had killed had been in pristine condition, and the taste reflected that. The meat was rich, juicy, flavorful, and it practically melted in her mouth. It was, quite literally the best thing she had ever eaten on this side of the world. It couldn't compare to primo sushi fresh out of the bay, but it was up there. As she inhaled the haunch she noticed that she was the only one really digging in. The Overlord seemed content to just watch, head in hand, chuckling away at her. Every once in a great while he would absently reach over to the slab hanging over the smoldering embers and tear off a small sliver which was then guided to his helmet. She would have thought it obvious that the morsels wound up in his mouth, she just couldn't see that. It was a rather creepy picture when the food simply vanished upon reaching that narrow gap in the helmet/crown.

She finished and set the bone, picked clean, on the ground beside her. The Overlord followed this observation with a simple question, "**Finished?**"

She folded her hands into her lap, feeling somewhat piggish compared to a man at least half again her size and weight, "I, yes."

The Overlord nodded once, then lifted his left hand and snapped his fingers. At the sound a ragged black tear opened on the ground, swallowing the fire and the remaining meat before closing and leaving no trace of either. "**I'm sure that the minions in the Spawning Pits will be overjoyed with this unexpected bounty. If they could string two brain cells together they would be smothering you with thanks right about now.**"

The memory of the little goblins made her shudder involuntarily, especially all of those little hands touching her as she was sent down to the dungeon like a twig carried by ants. It was hard for her to imagine those little monsters as anything other than that, monsters. But she had only had one contact with them, so she supposed she might have been wrong. Although in her mind that was a very big maybe.

The Overlord stood up and ushered her onto the road. "**I can tell that you're skeptical. I suppose I would be as well, but they really aren't anything more than delightfully demented idiots. Seriously, if I hadn't told them to take you to the Dungeon they would have just stood there gawking at you all day. I am even forced to remind them to put your hands and feet in the manacles, even though that would seem to be common sense.**" Off slightly to her right in the middle of the road The Overlord shook his head. "**Would you just listen to me? I didn't bring you along so I could complain about the logical failings of my minions.**"

She hesitated, not wanting to sound like an idiot but curious enough and, god forbid, concerned enough to ask anyway. "You uh, barely ate anything. Are you sure that's exactly, healthy?"

The Overlord almost froze mid-stride, but kept going, forcing her to as well. "**My my, if I didn't know you were quite young I would almost call that motherly concern. Last night you were worried that I won't get enough sleep, now it's me not eating.**" She thought she saw a ghost of a smile flash her way from within the helmet. "**As I said last night, your concern is duly noted, but unnecessary. I could probably explain how the whole thing works, but I'm sure you don't want to hear me go on for hours about complex metallurgy involving high-grade magic and minion sacrifices.**"

A grimace crossed her face, but she hid it before The Overlord saw it, or so she thought. "That does sound rather, distasteful."

The Overlord shot her another glance and kept walking. "**Well this is a pleasant surprise. When you aren't trying to kill me you're quite polite. I'd almost go so far as to say ladylike.**"

Her eyes fell far enough to see the tips of her toes as she walked. "Would you mind not mentioning…" A thought hit her mind like a slap to the face. "Wait, did you, just call me ladylike?"

A wry laugh preceded the response. "**I was under the impression that saying such a thing was a compliment. Was I wrong?**"

She stammered, "No, of course not!"

Inside, her stomach did a flip. Her master had tried to teach her how to be a lady before Mitsurugi showed up. The endless times she had repeated that tea ceremony until she had perfected it. The proper way to walk down the street, even if her height and the color of her skin made the other people glare at her. Even going so far as teaching her how to do origami. If he knew that his efforts had bore fruit, he would be so proud of her. And The Overlord would know, right? He was royalty, or at least he knew what royalty acted like, right?

The Overlord commented, "**Well, apparently I said something right. I haven't seen someone glowing that much, figuratively, since Velvet got to watch me boot her sister out of the Tower.**" Before she could ask the obvious next question the answer was offered to her, "**My late wife.**"

She was still curious, especially considering the memory she had of three other women clustered around The Overlord when she had mistakenly arrived in his home. Still, she was well aware that asking about a dead loved one might be a bad move. "What was she like?"

The Overlord didn't immediately respond. Instead he looked off into the distance for a while, silent save the rhythmic clack of his armor at every step. When he did speak, his voice had an almost trance-like note to it on top of the baritone rumble. "**Velvet was, put in two words, delightfully wicked. She liked watching people be tortured, got off on it actually. She had been spoiled her entire life, something I really couldn't help but continue. She loved black lace, tried to dress up some of the minions one time, now that I think about it. And, well, one time she saved my life from being wholly consumed, by her own father no less…**"

The Overlord spoke as if he was looking right at the woman he was describing, not speaking to a near-stranger sometime in the future and reciting information from memory. There was a note of wistfulness in his voice, a passive desire more comparable to missing someone who was simply far away, rather than dead, a warmth in his words that made the connection she had had with her master seem trivial. And yet, there was resignation as well. He knew that "Velvet" was forever beyond his reach and had moved on with his life. But he was undoubtedly older than she was, so that logically meant that he had had much longer to come to terms with her death, right?

Following her train of thought she asked the next question. "How, how long ago was this? I mean…"

The Overlord silenced her with a glance. "**Velvet died about eight months ago, give or take a week. Murdered by her own sister.**"

Again, she felt like she had been slapped in the face. Only eight months? How long had she been stewing over her master's death, almost six years? Such a realization made her feel petty, childish, and just an overall horrible person. Velvet had obviously meant far more to The Overlord than her master had meant to her, and she was the one who couldn't let go.

Her response was automatic, no thought involved at all. "That's terrible!"

The Overlord's eyes seemed to tick towards her as quickly as the sun moved across the sky. "**I know that Setsuka. I was there, remember?**"

She physically winced, not from the rebuke, which was deliberately worded to be gentle, but from her own carelessness. How could she, of all people, be so insensitive to this particular topic? "I, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

The Overlord lifted a hand and silenced her. "**Relax. No need to get yourself worked up over an off-the-cuff comment.**"

She made a weak attempt at a joke. "You know, you seem very forgiving for an Evil Overlord."

He seemed to take her joke seriously. "**It comes from long practice. Especially when it comes to ignoring certain trespasses when I know the offender doesn't know any better.**" The Overlord shot her a sidelong glance, "**Keep in mind that I'm not referring to you at this point.**" His gaze turned forward again. "**Besides, in all honesty, if I killed everyone that offended me, both this world and my own would be almost devoid of life by now. The trick lies in trying to focus on the redeeming qualities of whomever I'm trying to _not_ murder.**" He paused for a moment and seemed to be deep in thought. "**Shall I regale you with a story from my past to illustrate my point?**"

She was touched by the consideration, and the thought of saying no was only a fleeting notion. "Go right ahead, I'm intrigued."

The Overlord nodded once and began. "I**n my world there is a town called Heaven's Peak. Now, don't let the name fool you, the city is situated above a bog and there is nothing heavenly about it. Anyway, around the time of this tale the entire city was suffering from a disease, a plague if you will, that turned the infected into a rotting corpse that walked around and attacked people, in turn infecting them. Usually all it took was a bite, or so I recall.**" He chuckled, "**My memory is not perfect, much as I might wish it otherwise. But when I call to mind the state of that wretched refugee camp in the sewers I was forced to slog through, I don't remember really caring about how the infection was transmitted.**"

One fact so far gave her cause to interject. "But, if a single bite was all it took, then how did you avoid becoming infected yourself?"

The Overlord shrugged, "**Again, I truly cannot say. But if I had to guess I would suggest the dark magic saturating my body. I'll not deny that I was bitten many, many times. It was rather hard not to considering I was always being swarmed by dozens of them in the sewers. And each bite burned something fierce. Imagine being stung by a whole hive of bees and that might be an apt comparison.**" He shook his head. "**But I've gotten way off topic. On the East side of the city, through yet another zombie infested area, is a tavern called Halfway to Heaven, something of a cross between a brothel and a bar. As it was a bar, it stands to reason that there was a very large crowd of drunk men there and, as drunk men are often doing, they were acting extremely belligerent.**"

There was a pause, in which The Overlord cast a thoughtful glance skyward. "**Now, I don't mean to sound arrogant, but who in their right mind would challenge me with only a beer mug for a weapon? Every one of them and their brother starts insulting everything about me from my glowing eyes, to questioning the integrity of my mother's nether regions. I distract myself from the urge to hang them up by their entrails and parade their corpses through the streets with the thought that these were simple working men that were trying to unwind in an apocalyptic setting.**" A derisive snort issued from the inside of the helmet. "**My thought however, proved to be completely false. Every single one of them, save the town blacksmith, was a lazy do-nothing that let his wife do everything. That was when I acted out my elaborate revenge fantasy, nailing most of the whining husbands up by their thumbs, letting a swarm of flesh-eating insects devour them from the inside out, and then putting each of their heads up on spikes around the perimeter of the Tower.**" The Overlord turned his gaze back to her. "**Oh, I'm sorry, was that a bit too much detail?**"

She put a hand to her mouth, as if that was enough to fight down the bile threatening to make her lose the meal she had eaten earlier that morning. She managed to get a few words out. "A little bit, yes. Perhaps, a different story, with less gory details?"

The Overlord tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "**Perhaps, ah yes, the tale of my efforts in Evernight Forest then. Most of my foes there were dead already, with no blood to speak of. It all started with…**"

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Evening

Setsuka listened on with bona fide awe as The Overlord rattled on about the adventures that he had had. He told her of deserts inhabited by great worms that could swallow a city, forests where elves lived in communion with nature, caves where water was so plentiful that you'd be soaked to the skin just from stepping inside, and the Abyss. That most of all stood out in the stories. Every single detail that she heard of from those stories matched every detail every fanatical priest had ever spouted about Hell. So basically The Overlord was telling her, in no uncertain terms, that he had been to Hell and back no less than five times. Even more, he was telling her that he was the master, no, king of those abysses. Ergo, the king of Hell. She owed her life to the king of Hell, and that was wrong on so many levels but, did it really matter?

On the other hand, all those stories made her think. She had traveled herself, as obvious as that was with her growing up in Japan and now standing in some European country she had never bothered to learn the name of. What bothered her about that was that she had gone all over the map, but never actually experienced any of it. She was sure that there were places she had been worthy of suitable awe, but she had simply passed them by, so dead set she had been on revenge. It made her realize how hollow her life was, and question whether or not her master would be pleased by how she was living. He would have wanted vengeance, but at the cost of her life?

The Overlord wrapped up his latest tale, that of the Infernal Abyss. "**… It was around then when I became aware of the impending treachery of my current jester, Quil. Some quick spellwork was required to counteract the trap that minion somehow managed to set up. I'm glad I managed to, otherwise I wouldn't be standing here.**" As often happened, there was a break into which The Overlord interjected a chuckle and a wry remark. "**In hindsight that was probably a good move anyway. Especially considering how completely unimaginative he was in devising titles for my reign.**"

Far from finding the frequent interruptions disruptive, she found them enlightening. It was very nice to have his insight, especially since he had had a few years to mull things over. She'd only had a few questions over the course of the entire day, and she had another one now. "Titles?"

The Overlord rolled both his head and eyes. "**Oh indeed. The jesters love coming up with titles for every sundry act I perform. Usually ranging from amusing to insulting. My previous jester was a big fan of 'insulting.' And if you don't mind, I'd rather not repeat most of them. It'd take another day and a half for me to recount them all anyway.**"

Deciding to press her luck, and The Overlord's goodwill, she forged ahead. "Well, how about just one?"

The Overlord starred at her for a short while before relenting. "**Very well. I think you'll only need to hear one to get the gist of it. Which would you rather hear, amusing or insulting?**"

Unable to resist the chance she had just had handed to her, the choice was rather simple. "I think I'll try my luck with, insulting."

A snort preceded the response. "**Heh, well I was all but asking for that.**" He started to mutter, his eyes looking skyward. "**Let's see, one that will illustrate the whole picture. Ah, after my efforts in the Heaven's Peak Abyss, Quil devised this particularly snarky one.**" Somehow The Overlord manipulated his voice up an octave, and threw on the most melodramatic air she had ever seen. "**Preventer of the Floral-Print Menace!**"

She had to fight to keep her composure, and it was more difficult than every battle she had ever fought before, combined. It got to the point where she was crying from trying to suppress the urge to collapse onto the ground so she could devote all of her energy to laughing. In all honesty, the title in and of itself probably wasn't all that funny. But it was more the image of The Overlord making a minor fool out of himself purely for her enjoyment. On that topic, it was very nice of him.

Somewhat to her surprise, a yawn cleaved through her mirth. It was only then that she realized that it was very late in the evening. Late enough that the sun was only just above the horizon. Its fiery glare was enough to force her to raise a hand to ward off the light.

The Overlord apparently followed her gaze to the horizon. "**Hmm? Oh, how time does fly. I could've sworn we only set out an hour or so ago. Regardless, it was a very entertaining day. I don't think any of my wives have ever asked for a complete re-telling of my adventures.**"

She pulled her eyes away from the sunset, beautiful though it was. "Adventures? You really see all of this as one big adventure? Not, conquest?"

The Overlord's spiked shoulders rose and fell, and she was struck by the curiosity of how many people had met their end on those huge spines. "**Conquest, adventure, they are both interchangeable terms with me. Would you believe me if I told you that before arriving in this world I was suffering from a severe case of cabin fever? I am the complete master of my homeworld. There is nothing left for me to see or conquer there.**" He made a grand sweeping gesture that was obviously meant to encompass the entire world. "**So far, I have not seen anything exceptionally grand that I have not seen before. Large mountain ranges, sunsets on the ocean, forests that cover the land as far as the eye can see, I have seen each of these things many times, enough that they have lost their appeal. I am egged on by the knowledge that this is but one small continent. And if it took me close to five years to bring my world completely to heel, I can only imagine how long this will take.**"

The Overlord's driving ambition was utterly inspiring, and he was humble about it. Again, the thought was a double-edged sword that made her feel good, and at the same time made her take yet another hard look at her life. She had no ambition for anything, never had any beyond killing Mitsurugi. She really needed to stop doing this to herself, these were borderline suicidal thoughts, and she ostentatiously had no desire to perform hara kiri.

The Overlord increased his pace a bit, gaze sweeping back and forth from one side of the road to the other. "**Now, if I remember correctly I'm sure there was a campsite that my troops used en route to Ostrhinesburg. Where…**" Her chaperone took two more steps before bolting off to the left. "**Ah, and here we are. The soldiers were even considerate enough to leave a bundle of logs for the next traveler, which just so happens to be us.**" Leaving her to her own devices, The Overlord started to tend the fire; so much as he needed to when he lit the flame with a snap of his fingers. "**Perhaps, on the morrow, you can tell me a little about you since we seem to have devoted all of today to my ramblings.**"

She objected, "I happened to enjoy myself quite a bit, if you must know. It didn't seem like rambling to me at all."

Another deep chuckle emanated from the helm. "**There's that lady's politeness again. Not bad, Isabella would have had a conniption by now. Not to mention she'd have blisters the size of my anvil back home.**" He laughed again, louder this time. "**I would insist that she not wear those heels, but that woman is almost independent to a fault. Her sense of style is as important to her as her survival. I'd call her mad, if I didn't appreciate that trait so much.**"

Her next question seemed to make sense, at least before she said it. "Then, you only like independent women?" Inside her head she immediately screamed at herself, the words popping in so fast that they blended together. 'Oh my god why did you say that?'

The Overlord stared at her for what felt like a very long time before answering, and when he did his words came out at a slower lilt. "**I should hope not. That would mean I hate two of my wives; Sophitia and Taki. Although, I suppose Taki sort of falls into somewhat of a middle ground in that category.**" His eyes narrowed, and she could easily imagine the sly smile spreading across his hidden mouth. "**If I may, why are you so curious as to what kind of woman I like?**"

Not quite knowing the answer herself, her only response was to stammer until she just clamped her mouth shut. Not that she could have made herself any more foolish by saying anything else. Well, she could have burst out with a declaration of love, and that would most certainly been even more humiliating… Oh dear god she had not just thought about that. Worse, she had nothing to go on. If, and it was a big if, she actually felt something for The Overlord it would be a life first. She'd, she'd never even kissed a boy before. It wasn't that she hadn't tried, in the brief periods of her life when her loneliness had overshadowed her drive for revenge. But the men in Japan thought she was a freak due to her height and pale skin, and Europeans thought that she was a freak because she wore a kimono and acted somewhat like the Japanese. Her master had been the only person ever to have accepted her without reservations, and he was dead. In a way though, The Overlord reminded her of her master. It was in that kind, self-assured manner that he had, and how he was the single most powerful warrior she had ever known. Her master had been like that, until Mitsurugi arrived. Now though, she had a hard time imagining who could be even more powerful than a man that could literally become a walking inferno, was the king of Hell, and broke other men in half with a single blow. If she was going to fall for someone, could she make a better choice, provided that the feeling was reciprocated?

The Overlord's merry voice interrupted her jumbled thoughts. "**Regardless, at least I won't have to bother handing over my mantle again for the night. You never gave it up to begin with.**"

She unconsciously hugged the black cloth around herself, noting that she had completely forgotten that it was there, "I, ah, I'm sorry?"

The Overlord waved her apology away. "**Don't worry about it. I never bothered to ask for it back, so it's my error.**"

She waited for a moment, trying to process everything, when a question popped into her head. "Why exactly are you so tolerant of everything I do? Of what most everyone does?"

One loud laugh burst from deep in The Overlord's chest. "**Setsuka, if you had to put up with the amount of things that I have to, you'd probably be a bit more tolerant of the world around you too. One servant of mine, by the name of Sarah, is completely incompetent. She has started more fires in my Tower than I can count. Now, either she is a secret pyromaniac that is very good at acting like an air-headed ditz. Or she is simply that. What makes the situation marginally worse is that she always believes, with one-hundred percent surety, that she is helping. That makes it patently impossible for me to stay angry with her for more than an hour.**"

She just shook her head and huddled her body up against a tree, ready to nod off at a moment's notice. The only thing stopping her was the fact that she couldn't pull her eyes away from The Overlord's glowing eyes.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Second Campsite

Erasmus hummed a mild tune to himself as he prodded the fire, noting in the back of his mind that it was the same beat that the Heaven's Peak Reaper had been belting out over his conquest of Wolfkrone. It had been a rather nice day, all things considered. And on that topic, he wasn't at all surprised that he had talked as much as he had. He had always been rather open with those people he considered his friends, or more. That list was just extremely short, always had been. Before he had become The Overlord that entire list had encompassed the seven people that had fought alongside him to kill his predecessor, even though they had failed miserably. After that, well, it had been Velvet until eight months ago.

He glanced over at Setsuka, noticing that the girl's eyes hadn't left him since she lay down, or, more accurately, his own eyes. His earlier query hadn't entirely been jest, more of a test than anything, one that didn't have a real pass/fail mechanic. He had seen the seeds that he had been concerned about in the morning, accelerated by spending an entire day enveloped in his dark presence. And that wasn't him being arrogant; Taki had told him about how simply being nearby had altered her perceptions of him over time. Setsuka had been wrapped in his mantle all day, and now two nights in a row. The same cloth had been wrapped around his shoulders for close to three years. It was probably as saturated with Evil as Sophitia had been immediately after being jolted by the Tower Heart. That was amusing in a certain way, as he had read somewhere, one of the rules of Evil, that the more beautiful and pure something was, the more satisfying it was to corrupt. In another it was quite in conflict with his thoughts from earlier in the day, ergo, infuriating. Now he had some idea of what his twelve mistress ancestor had gone through, only in the acquisition process, and it sounded absolutely horrid when he said it like that.

He leaned back against the tree behind him before summoning a token force of Wraiths. Then he half-closed his eyes and settled in to wait, just to see what would happen. If things played out to his expectations, well, he wouldn't have to move an inch. If not, then he wouldn't have to move either. There just wouldn't be someone clinging to his torso in the morning if he was wrong. He half-found himself hoping he was wrong.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Second Campsite: Early Morning

Setsuka felt her eyes flip open, the sudden visual input not quite lining up with what she had seen before falling into that blissful void that humanity called sleep. She remembered staring, and there was no other word for it, at or perhaps into the eyes of The Overlord, but she had not remembered being so close. Then she took notice of where her hands were. Her left was lightly resting on the chest plate of The Overlord's armor, fingers holding one of the ridges and that was probably the only thing keeping her hand up. Her right hand was looped around his back, all the way around to the other side of his hip. If she wanted a parallel she could compare it to a couple she had seen a few years back. A pair of young lovers that had sparked in her a feeling of loneliness and envy so intense that it was one of the few times after her master's death when she had completely forgotten about her mortal grudge against Mitsurugi, and now she was mimicking it perfectly with The Overlord, a man she had met only a few days ago.

She looked up into The Overlord's eyes, and found that he was looking back. "**In my defense I must say this, I'm not the one who moved.**"

She sprang up, but only so far as her knees, and found that he was being completely truthful, again. The possibility that he had simply moved her over to him did not even occur to her. Her head was spinning, not because she was totally surprised with her actions, as she had started to suspect herself of harboring such feelings, but for the timetable. Her unconsciously acting so soon on only a suspicion that didn't even account for The Overlord's side of the equation, it was almost inconceivable.

She started to stammer out an apology. "I, I'm-"

The Overlord raised a hand, and she found herself quieting. "**Look, Setsuka, I'm going to be honest here.**" He paused for a moment, "**Now, how exactly do I explain this without sounding like an asshole?**" He shrugged and started talking. "**This, attraction you have isn't wholly of your own creation. Something similar happened to Taki, my third wife. She told me that, over the weeks she pursued me, her perception of my actions was slowly warped simply by being nearby, and by nearby I mean moving through the trees off to one side of the road or the other. That attitude shift only took two weeks. You have been within an arm's reach ever since yesterday, and wrapped in my three-year mantle the whole time.**" He set a hand lightly on her right shoulder. "**I'm not trying to say you're especially weak-willed, because I know that to be untrue, but I'd like for you to be able to make an informed decision.**"

She fell silent, trying to understand what she had just been told. The Overlord was telling her that her affection, and that's indeed what it was, was purely a figment of her corrupted mind. Well, no, not exactly anyway. The Overlord said that it wasn't entirely her heart making the decision. So amidst the magic clouding her mind there was a genuine kernel of attraction formed by his kindly mannerism, his unwavering acceptance of her, and maybe the way she sensed the possibility of a whole new world opening up to her. Maybe, to her this was a way of finding a purpose again, something beyond mindlessly seeking death across all of creation. Maybe she wanted a home again, and that tied inexorably in with the acceptance. The notion that The Overlord already had three wives was only a periphery concern.

She reached down to loop both of her hands around The Overlord's massive gauntlet. "I, I don't care. Even if all of these thoughts aren't mine, at least some of them are. I don't, want to be alone anymore." A single tear splashed down on the black metal, evaporating almost instantly. "You can understand, right? Please, don't deny me this. I…" Something inside broke, and she slowly leaned forward until her forehead was resting against The Overlord's chest. Even more slowly, The Overlord's free hand slowly rose to rest upon her back, as if to shelter her from the ill will of the entire world.

Dark Tower: Spawning Pits

Sophitia stared through the gauzy lens of the Tower Heart, a dreamy smile on her lips as Setsuka broke down to her husband, now shared between four women in total. Did she care? Not at all. She actually found the whole thing rather touching, but that could just have been because she liked it immensely when Erasmus was acting romantic. Furthermore, the way he was acting right now made her think that Erasmus would make as wonderful a father as he was a husband. With some effort she tore her eyes away from the poignant scene and took a glance down at the hand resting on her middle. Now, more than ever, she truly wanted another child. Even though she knew that Overlords were extremely unlikely to sire children, as per Erasmus's own words. She still had a long way to go before she reached the twilight years of her life, and that was time she planned on putting to good use.

Behind her, there was a distinct lack of noise that ironically told her that someone was there. "Taki? No need to be shy."

The ninja grudgingly stepped forward into the circle of light cast by the Tower Heart, clad in one of the kimonos that Erasmus had purchased. This one was an elegant violet color with blue trim, and blended in with the darkness. Which seemed to be almost a rule when it came down to what Taki would willingly wear.

She gestured towards the huge crystalline orb, directing Taki's attention towards the events unfolding back in Europe. "I think it's fair to say that I win, don't you think?"

The former assassin grumbled while looking down at the floor, "Yes, obviously." Taki lifted her gaze again. "But surely you can admit that 'inside of three days' was an extreme long-shot? And, she hasn't even kissed him yet."

Almost as soon as Taki finished speaking, Setsuka, in the hazy image that they could see, slowly lifted her head, the remains of tears still clinging to her cheeks, and hesitantly drew her lips to the dark gap in Erasmus's helmet. It was adorable, because it was quite obvious that Setsuka had never done this before. And if she'd never even kissed someone, the odds of the next step having happened were slim to none. It wasn't like she was trying to make fun of the young woman, the situation just deserved laugher in a cutesy kind of way.

Taki slowly shook her head, while rubbing her scalp as if to ward off a headache. "I think I'll just stop talking now. Anything I say around here just seems to wind up biting me in the ass."

She crossed her arms, an indignant pout threatening to shine through. "No need to be so bitter. All I asked for if I won this little wager was for you to be a little bit more open with me. Is that really so hard? We're living together, just in case you forgot."

Taki's face fell under a shadow as the ninja looked down. "Just, give me a little bit of time to get used to this. It's been a long time since I lived with anyone. I'm having a difficult enough time coming to terms with, well, you know…"

She nodded, and an unspoken understanding passed between the two of them. Then she decided to push anyway. "You're still coming up to my room for tea after this. Because whether you want to be sociable or not is of no consequence now. You, me, Ivy, and soon Setsuka have a few things to discuss before this is all over, and you know what I'm talking about."

Leaving things at that, she turned back towards the Tower Heart, mind still swimming in the possibilities that lay ahead, for all of them.


	15. The Beginning of the End

Chapter 15: The Beginning of the End

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Second Campsite

The Overlord slipped his helmet back onto his head, just in time to watch the sun rise. He was still half-heartedly cursing himself, but he had spilled the full truth to Setsuka and she still chose to stick around, that trust carried with it a responsibility on his part to be worthy of said trust. That was the way things worked with any real relationship, whether it be with one woman or many. He couldn't speak for the other side, the woman's side of the arrangement, but he could at least guess that it was somewhat the same.

He turned his gaze towards Setsuka, who was still curled up, asleep, beneath his mantle. In stark contrast to their first encounter, where she had been almost the embodiment of anger, she lay with a warm, content smile upon her face. He reached down and brushed a few strands of hair away. And when he did Setsuka immediately curled her neck into the touch, a breathy, innocent sigh escaping from her. At the sound, his heart melted. As he had told Setsuka before, no one deserved to be miserable. To this, some people might counter that he made people miserable all the time, which was not entirely accurate. He made people dead, any misery derived from that deed was entirely left to the living relatives of those dead, if they cared, and if they couldn't man up and move on. He stood up, stooped over, and gently lifted Setsuka up. And though he tried his best to not wake her, the blonde's eyes fluttered open anyway.

After a moment Setsuka, still a bit drowsy, squirmed in his arms. "Is, is it supposed to hurt this much?"

He sighed, not from any irritation with the question, more that he had known the question would be coming. "**That depends quite a bit, on whether that was your first time or not.**"

Setsuka winced; from his words or whatever pain she was feeling he could not say. "Was I that obvious?"

He started to lie, with the thought of sparing the young woman additional distress, "**Well, no.**" And then his penchant for honesty got the better of him. "**Maybe, a little bit… Yes.**" Setsuka started to apologize, but he kept talking. "**Don't, you have nothing to apologize for. Just because you have not been robbed of your maidenhood before now is of no consequence.**" He shifted his grip to cradle her head. "**Relax, the day is still young. Go back to sleep.**"

As he walked Setsuka leaned her head into the crook of his arm, and eventually nodded off again. Once he was sure she was completely asleep he opened a portal and returned to the Dark Tower.

Dark Tower: Private Quarters

Ivy grappled with boredom as she tossed a bloody limb into the back corner of her room. To most people, this would seem like a rather morbid way to pass the time, but she had a practical reason for this. A short while ago, it had come to her attention that there was a small patch of alraune growing in the corner. How long it had been there she did not know, but about a week had passed since she found it. Over that time she had entertained herself by nurturing the plant, curious as to what its flower might look like. She thought it odd that, considering how long she had spent using the vines, she still didn't have the whole picture, but she still had plenty of time to work that out.

Behind her in the corridor, she heard the distinctive sound of Erasmus's boots on the stone floor. This was interesting to her, as she remembered him saying that he probably wouldn't return to the Tower until after Soul Edge was in his iron grasp. Acting upon that curiosity, she made her way over to the door and poked her head out, just in time to watch Erasmus vanish into the last room down the hall, the empty one. Driven still on, she hustled over to the same door, shoving it open with her left foot in time to see Erasmus set Setsuka down on the bed.

She cleared her throat, tapping on the door for good measure. "Dropping off some precious cargo?"

Erasmus didn't seem to react, at first. He just tucked the younger woman into bed like nothing had happened. Then he turned to her, chuckling softly. "**That much should be obvious.**" Erasmus seemed to affix her with an analytical gaze. "**You were watching the whole time through the Tower Heart, weren't you?**"

The Overlord's words were phrased as a question, but Erasmus had to know that one of them had been looking in on him every now and then. She had admittedly done so once or twice, but she usually left that droll duty to the perpetual worrywart, Sophitia. After all, Erasmus had only been traveling to the cursed city. What could possibly go wrong?

She leaned on the door frame, unconsciously popping her hip a little bit further than was needed. "Don't look at me. I have enough faith in your strength to keep myself from watching you every waking hour of the day."

Erasmus nodded once. "**I see. In that case I should take my leave, and leave the Tower in your oh so capable hands.**"

As The Overlord made to exit the room he ran a finger along the bottom of her chin, and that was quite enough for her. She slipped in behind Erasmus and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes to accomplish this. Once positioned thusly, she squeezed, pulling his massive frame back against her. Although she knew he wouldn't actually feel her body, he would feel the pressure.

Instead of trying to turn around, which would have been futile, Erasmus brought his right hand up and around to caress the back of her head, ruffling her hair in an affectionate manner. "**You do realize, Isabella, that you are making it extremely difficult for me to leave, and not simply by restraining me.**"

She crooned in Erasmus's ear, her voice little more than a husky whisper. "I guess I'm doing my job then. Besides, it's incredibly boring waiting on my laurels until you get to Ostrhinesburg."

After a very long moment, during which she considered resorting to more "aggressive" measures, her lover finally untangled himself from the embrace. "**In that case, I suppose I'll just sprint to this "cursed city" as soon as I hit the road again. No point in dragging this quest out any longer, yes?**"

She chuckled; toying with one of the spikes on Erasmus's left shoulder. "Take as long as you like, just keep me entertained in the meantime."

Erasmus gave her chin a nudge as he started to walk away. "**At most, I'll take a day to get there. I think you can survive for twenty-four hours, right?**" As The Overlord reached the top of the stairs and started to descend he paused. "**Oh yes and Isabella, try not to do anything inappropriate to Setsuka while she's sleeping, and try to restrain yourself when she wakes up.**"

Though she had some idea of what Erasmus was insinuating, she didn't think it was possible that he really knew she was starting to have those thoughts. "I beg your pardon?"

The Overlord slowly turned around on the second step down. "**Don't think I haven't caught you ogling Sophitia and Taki when they aren't looking.**" The darkness intensified, and she could have sworn that a Cheshire cat smile flashed her way from inside Erasmus's helm. "**Are we starting to develop an interest in "experimenting" when I'm not here to satisfy you?**"

Any objection she might have prepared caught in her throat at the mild accusation. Sure the idea had occurred to her once or twice, along with a wonder of what it would feel like. But she still hadn't truly considered acting upon those ideas, at least, not that she knew of. It really wasn't that much of a step outside of her comfort zone was it? She'd been in the same bed as the other two women plenty of times; the only difference would be the absence of the mutual husband. So why was the idea so awkward to think about?

Erasmus must have seen her reacting somehow, because he started to chuckle hysterically. "**Oh I simply MUST inform Quaver of this, the first time since meeting you when you've actually been embarrassed.**" A shred of melodrama entered her lover's voice. "**I shall treasure this moment until time immemorial!**"

She scowled. Not liking that she was being made fun of, even though she knew she deserved it. "I take it you disapprove then?"

Erasmus reigned in his amusement and shook his head. "**Whether I approve or not is inconsequential. You are my wife, not my slave. What you choose to do with your body while I'm not around is entirely up to you, and what you do with it while I'm around as well. If you feel like dabbling around with Sophitia or Taki that is between you and them.**" He gestured towards the door he had just left. "**I ask only that you abstain from Setsuka because I doubt she's ready for that particular ordeal, and especially going through that ordeal with you.**" He turned to leave, and then paused again to shoot one last comment over his shoulder. "**One last word of caution, I would stay the hell away from the servant girls. You'd be far more liable to catch something.**"

Leaving her thoroughly flustered, The Overlord vanished down the stairs, the sounds of his footsteps slowly fading away.

Road to Ostrhinesburg: Morning

The Overlord stared off into the distance, imagining that he could see the outline of the black city on the horizon. He knew that he would have to hustle to meet his self-imposed deadline, but that was part of the fun. He hadn't been out on a simple run in years. Come to think of it, the only memory he had that was comparable was a footrace when he was a little boy, one that he had lost quite badly if the memory was accurate. Perhaps simply to spite the memory he set himself up as he were just running another race, leaning forward, propped up on the tips of his fingers, legs ready to propel him forward like a stone from a sling. In another flight of fantasy he imagined Sophitia standing slightly in front of him on the side of the road, holding the handkerchief that, when dropped, signaled the start of his race against himself.

He smiled, knowing that the fantasy was fairly juvenile. "**The fountain of youth has not yet run dry for me.**"

Then he remembered something the True Wizard, or at least his shade, had mentioned, that he was set on a course to replace the Forgotten God as the true God of Evil. He wasn't going to indulge his ego by fantasizing about being all but immortal. If he had been told the truth it would happen, if not, then he would age until he died. It wasn't a depressing thought, it was simply reality. Death wasn't really a problem; it was the fear of death that brought on madness. He had read of past Overlords wasting their entire lives with futile hunts for true immortality, and he was determined to not become one of them.

He pushed off, pumping his legs hard and fast enough to put a war stallion to shame, breathing in the crisp morning air and cherishing every wisp of it.

Ostrhinesburg: Twenty-Six Hours later

The Overlord jogged up to the top of the rise, overlooking the vast, grim city. He was annoyed with himself for arriving late, even more so when he heard the clash of weapon on weapon off in the distance. As before, with the volcanic area, he was late to the party, so to speak. On the plus side, he did see the campfires only a battalion of soldiers would need between him and the nearest gate. As he approached the encampment the negative became clearly apparent, Hildegard was still alive.

He placed his footsteps carefully, sneaking up behind the former queen with not a single sound giving him away. Once he was within an ace of stepping on the red-head he leaned down, snaking his mouth near Hildegard's ear. "**Miss me?**"

A shrill, terror laden scream issued from the young woman as Hildegard threw herself away from him, missing the campfire around which some of his troops huddled by a hand-span. As for the men, wicked smirks appeared upon their faces in unison at his mild prank. He found himself wondering why, then waved it off as his corrupting influence. After all, he really couldn't affect only women. That would be wrong on quite a few levels. Although he hoped he was only inspiring loyalty.

Latent fear filled the former monarch's voice with a noticeable quiver. "W, Why in the name of God did you do that?"

A baleful smile spread across his face within the darkness of his helm. "**I was in the mood for a good laugh, and you were so kind as to oblige me.**" He gestured towards Ostrhinesburg. "**Now enough stalling, how many entrances are there to this city?**"

Hildegard made a valiant effort to muster herself, but there were still plenty of cracks in the mask she threw on. "Two, one to the North and this one in front of us, the Western. There once was a Southern gate, but that was destroyed last year."

He let out a snort of derision. "**And I don't even need to guess who was responsible for that. No matter, in truth that actually works to my benefit. One less avenue of escape to bottle up.**" He made a slashing motion through the air with the first two fingers on his right hand, tearing the void open. "**Soph-**" Before he could even get the name half-out all four of his brides stepped through the portal, Setsuka seeming far more timid than the others, but that was to be expected for her first willful trip.

Isabella strut her way to the fore, her sword resting on her shoulder. "We've been milling about in the Throne Room for the past hour or so, just waiting for you."

He joked, holding his left hand over his heart. "**Only an hour? I'm wounded by your lack of faith in my speed.**" His tone grew hard, serious. "**On that high note, this is how I would like this battle to go.**" He shooed Hildegard away with a dismissive wave of his hand. "**Take half of the men to the North gate and lock it down, no one goes in or out. Fail, and I will hold you personally responsible.**" He shot a glare at the red-head, almost literally watching Hildegard's soul dissolve from the acid in his words. "**Should that happen, I'm sure a certain lady present would relish the opportunity to inflict whatever horrors she can imagine upon you.**"

Hildegard remained frozen to the spot for a very long time, quaking with fear in time with his dark laughter. Then the former queen shot a glance behind her and noticed the retreating figures of the troops. It was then Hildegard took her cue to scamper away like a frightened rabbit does from a hawk.

He gave Isabella a quick wink before continuing. "**Now, I would like a volunteer to do the same with the gate in front of us. I know it's not exactly an exceptionally glorious duty, but it is necessary.**"

Isabella immediately scowled with disgust at the idea. "Not me. No way in Hell. I've got one person in there that I'm really going to want to kill if they aren't dead already, which I doubt."

He couldn't help but smile, feeding off of Isabella's bloodlust. "**Your cursed pirate father, yes I can see how you would want that. Give your sword an extra twist in his gut for me when you kill him.**" His gaze turned to Sophitia, and immediately a molten flame ignited in his chest cavity upon seeing her wielding the weapons that he had forged, both out of pride and adoration. "**Well? How about you dear?**"

Sophitia looked away for a moment, shuffling her feet in hesitation, before answering. "I, I would rather not. I have a bit of a score to settle with Astaroth, but I will stay if you need me to."

The warmth in his chest was instantly replaced by the frigid spines of cold fury. "**Only if you find that thing first.**" He turned still further to Taki. "**Any objections?**"

Taki's black eyes found his, and he was struck by the notion that it was slightly more difficult to ascertain her mood. "No, I'll do it. I'm not at my best right now considering, ah, recent events."

He started to wrap up the briefing. "**Very well. Now, as with our last-**"

Setsuka interrupted him, "Wait, what do you want me to do?"

He almost responded with a trite 'whatever you want to do,' but then a rather jarring thought hit him. "**Oh, yes, I forgot for a moment that you lack a weapon.**" His left hand rose to his brow, abashed as he was by the oversight. "**Well this puts me in a bit of a hard spot. I can't forge a weapon for you out of thin air, as impressive of a feat that would be.**" His hand fell back to his sword hilt. "**I suppose then, that I must ask you to return to the Tower-**"

Setsuka's indignant squawk sounded quite hurt, "What!"

He cut the young woman off. "**I wasn't finished. Return to the Tower and take an immediate right down the stairs to the Spawning Pits. There, you can watch through my eyes as this conflict unfolds, and speak to me for the duration.**" His shoulders rose and fell, an apologetic shrug. "**I know it's not what you would want, not what I would want either, but this is the best I can do within this timeframe.**"

He pulled the portal open again and made a simple gesture towards it. The younger blonde looked absolutely dejected, but she did enter. Moments later there was a tentative "hello" inside of his head as Setsuka made mental contact with him through the Tower Heart.

He tapped the side of his helmet, an odd habit he had picked up along the way when trying to talk to people back home. "**Setsuka, you might want to make yourself comfortable. This could take a while.**" A glance passed between him, Isabella, and Sophitia. "**Ready?**"

Sophitia lifted both of her weapons, quivering with either nervousness or excitement. "Whenever you are."

Ostrhinesburg: Central Causeway

Isabella Valentine hustled along in the bloody wake of The Overlord, slashing left and right into crowds of people she didn't recognize, nor ever would. Most of her victims didn't even have the time to realize what was going on before they were dead, and that was perfectly all right with her. By now, she was confident enough in her own abilities and tricks that only one of the recurring fighters involved in this drawn out struggle would be a real threat, and Erasmus could kill all of them for all she cared. As she had said at the gate, so long as she was able to rip Cervantes, her father, apart she would be content.

Speaking of a certain immortal pirate, she saw a distinctive pistol-sword sticking out of a side alley. She wasn't the best when it came to intense calculations on the fly, but she was quite sure that the only thing her father would bother aiming at would be The Overlord. The odds of a shot penetrating Erasmus's helmet were slim to none and anything else would be little more than a nuisance, but it never hurt to remove the possibility altogether. Following that line of thought she extended her sword out into the crowd, snaring a young man in a full-body green tunic wielding a sword and shield, and yanking the boy into the path of the bullet as Cervantes's hand tensed on the trigger. When shot, the helpless boy let out an unintelligible cry and died dramatically as blood sprayed from a freshly severed jugular vein.

She used the corpse as a battering ram and charged her father. "Not as long as I'm still alive, you bastard."

Cervantes de'Leon dodged backwards, further into the cul-de-sac. "Feeble insults, from a feeble soul, my daughter." The pirate's spinning blades deflected her first flurry of blows. "I'm truly shocked to see that you still live. I was sure that the artificial soul you created would have guttered out by now like a candle in a maelstrom."

A wicked sneer twisted her lips. "I'm a far better alchemist than you gave me credit for then. It shouldn't matter after I kill you anyhow."

Her father backed still further into the alley, far enough that his back was against the wall. "You really think it'll be that simple? That your soul will be restored simply if I die?" Cervantes leapt up, against the wall, and out over her head to neatly reverse their predicaments. "I think you'll find me far more difficult to bring down than you give me credit for."

She cursed as she realized how easily her lust for revenge had lured her into this. She didn't dare use any of her long range techniques because of the lack of space into which to retreat if she missed, and knowing her father it was a fairly good guess that she would miss. All she could do was parry frantically and hope for an opening, which she was very unlikely to get. Her father's large sword, the imitation Soul Edge, swung high and she put her blade up to block. The thought crossed her mind that she could kick Cervantes back and earn a little breathing room. However, the instant she started to pick her left foot up off the ground her ears registered a loud sound. It wasn't until her right leg gave out that she recognized it as her father's gun, and only after that did she notice the agony of her right calve being shattered. She started to fall, but Cervantes sheathed the pistol-sword and had her by the throat before she hit the ground.

Her father's face was covered with a patronizing sneer, the point of his imitation blade hovering inches away from her forehead. "And so the circle finally closes. I must say, your soul tasted so sweet the first time around. I'm curious as to what this "artificial" soul will be like in comparison."

She wasn't really listening, focused as she was on her last ditch effort to survive. It was a real possibility that the alraune simply wouldn't listen to her in this city, but she had to try. Her pride, not to mention her righteously selfish desire to stand by Erasmus till the end of time, would not allow her to die quietly. As black started to seep into the edges of her vision she spotted the creepers twining up into the air behind Cervantes, paler than usual, but still there. At the sight, a hoarse chuckled forced its way out of her mouth.

Her father's face remained mostly the same, but his left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly upwards. "You surprise me daughter. I didn't take you for the kind to laugh in the face of your own death."

She pushed the words out, wanting the chance to gloat. "If my husband can, then so can I."

Cervantes squeezed her throat tighter for a second. "Take comfort in the knowledge that he's next. You can spend however much time together you like, in the afterlife."

With effort, she managed a sneer of her own. "Oh I don't think you'll have the chance to try."

With a twitch of her fingers the trap was sprung. Cervantes seemed so shocked upon first being seized by greenery that the imitation Soul Edge almost slipped out of his grip, but the "Immortal Pirate" gathered himself fast enough to put up a token resistance, not that it was enough. Within moments their positions were reversed yet again, now with her holding her father's life literally in the palm of her hand.

She stood, ignoring the screaming agony from her shattered right leg, and pried the imitation sword from Cervantes's grasp. "Go to Hell you sick bastard."

With rage and hatred giving her exhausted body strength she drove the point of her father's own blade through his nose, down his neck, and further until she pushed the sword through where Cervantes's heart would have been if he had one. At once her energy left her and she fell back against the wall, watching as the alraune gorged itself on her father's fresh corpse. Somehow, this moment that she had been working towards for so long, it wasn't as cathartic as she had hoped it would be. Maybe, maybe she had just moved on? No, she just had become desensitized to the whole issue. She didn't let herself feel the pain.

Between ragged breaths she allowed herself to break, to vent all of the sadness festering inside for so long. She cried for the first time in over ten years.

Ostrhinesburg: Castle Approach

The Overlord smiled to himself as he waded through the melee, but not exactly from any particular opponent he was facing. He was keeping a close watch on Sophitia as she carved her way through the crowd away from him towards Astaroth. The durium metal wasn't nearly as effective at cutting heavy armor as arcanium but with the short stabs that Sophitia tended to use, and the prevalence of light steel, she was cutting a rather impressive swath. The light sound of a wooden clack on his armor brought him pause, partly out of surprise but mostly out of disbelief. He wasn't arrogant enough to consider himself unhittable, but he really couldn't fathom who would use a small wooden weapon against armor, even normal steel plate.

He stopped walking forward and turned his head towards the source of the hit. "**Are you mentally deranged or just foolish?**"

His vocal target, a young man in a white vest and pants with black hair so greased up that it was impossible to see individual strands, smirked back at him. "With that kind of talk, you must be scared."

He stood stock still for a few heartbeats, before responding. "**If you think I am afraid of you, then your delusions of grandeur are worse than those of Sir William the Black. And that paladin had the temerity to call me "peasant" repeatedly.**"

The boy lunged, twirling the weapon in front of him. Said weapon was little more than two foot-long pieces of wood linked by a small chain, ergo, no threat to an armored warrior. All he did was stick his left foot in the aerial path of the boy and let momentum do the rest of the work for him. After the hit he dropped his boot and, as planned, he was pinning the boy to the ground.

He reached down and grabbed the boy's right wrist, pushing down slightly with his boot. "**Someone stupid enough to not realize their limitations does not deserve to stay alive on the battlefield.**"

With a deliberately slow application of pressure he disarticulated the boy's entire right arm, adding insult to injury by using the fresh bludgeon to slap the teeth out of the boy's mouth one by one.

He tossed the bloody limb away and picked his victim up by the scruff of his neck. "**If you have a next life, stick to something like mercantile pursuits. You'll live longer.**"

He hurled the still living body off into the crowd ahead of him, scattering people almost as well as when he was using the explosive Mace of Doom. Not bothering to stop and admire the carnage he kept moving, his anticipation rising with every inch he closed between him and Soul Edge.

Ostrhinesburg: Castle Courtyard

Sophitia rushed through the crowd, pushing people aside when she could, and stabbing them when she couldn't. Astaroth was in the middle of the courtyard, and as she had mentioned at the gate she had a score to settle. Revenge was a mildly new thing for her. She knew the concept but had never really felt compelled to exact it. Really, her role in this ongoing conflict had mostly been throwing her body and life on the line for the greater good, only to be thrown to the wayside when she was the one that needed help. But, that chapter of her life was over, and so would this miniature war if Erasmus got his way. Either way the conflict turned out though, she still wanted the Black Giant to break into his, or its, disparate parts. She bulled her way by a young man, inadvertently causing the man to fall upon his own sword. The scream was particularly loud, and drew Astaroth's attention.

The Black Giant tossed aside the remains of his latest victim, covered in splashes of blood from head to toe. "And the worm returns for another round." A wide horizontal swing cleared the general area, pretty much negating the need for either of them to watch their own backs. "I will enjoy breaking your bones like the twigs that they are, again!"

She held her ground as Astaroth advanced. "Not this time."

The Black Giant roared with laughter as he wound up. "Not this time?" I will crush you however many times I feel like. That is the right of the strong, and you are weak!"

She hopped less than a foot to the right and the axe swing missed her completely. "Maybe I am weak, but you're stupid. I think it balances out in the end."

After a few more missed swings she rushed forward and attempted to plant her sword in the golem's belly, but "attempted" was the word and she took a rock-hard knee to the stomach for her trouble. She thought that, considering how their last encounter had gone, Astaroth would have simply let her hit him. The golem was rather arrogant after all, but it seemed that there was some measure of practicality in that empty head. She'd have to try something else, and if her gut feeling had anything to say about it, it was probably going to hurt a lot.

As she danced around the giant and the similarly sized axe, taking chips out of the weapon when she had the chance, she began to assemble a plan. Something like she had tried last time, only with her deflecting a horizontal strike off into the air to give herself an opening before burying her sword up to the winged hilt in Astaroth's belly. She somewhat doubted the Black Giant would go down from a single stab wound, but she had to start somewhere. Who knew, maybe she would get lucky and hit something vital inside the golem. That was of course assuming that there was anything vital for her to hit. She waited until Astaroth was winding up for another swing, ducked, and almost lost her shield as the impact numbed her fingers, but her plan had worked. She lunged, throwing a slash before burying her weapon right in the Black Giant's center of mass.

Astaroth convulsed with the wound. "No, this is not possible!"

Try as she could she was unable to pull her sword out, around which sickly golden light was playing, of Astaroth's gullet. Every second she continued to try raised the possibility of her being flattened by the falling giant, but not retrieving the blade would be just as much of a death sentence. She threw her weight, slight though it was, against the Black Giant in an effort to make him fall the way she wanted him to, somewhat like a lumberjack felling a tree. This effort offered slightly mixed results, Astaroth did fall on his back, but she overbalanced herself and landed flat on her face. All in all a small price to pay for victory, but her dignity would surely suffer.

A sickly blast of golden light forced her to close her eyes, and when she opened them she was treated to the sight of watching Astaroth's remains crumbling into dust. She had to admit, she had been expecting some kind of explosion of malevolence or something like that. But dust worked for her just fine. Astaroth was dead, and that was the end of it. She let out a sigh and started to stand, only to find the end of a long, thin blade hovering inches from her neck.

The snooty, cultured voice that went with the blade was vaguely familiar. "I must say, you put on a rather good show. Well, for one of your skills anyway."

Her mood, that had marginally improved with the death of the Black Giant, plummeted as she remembered what an utterly arrogant man Raphael Sorel was. "You? I'm surprised your head fit through the city gates, then again, is that a bit of stone dust clinging to your forehead? Break the archway on your way in?"

The man's pale red eyes glared down at her. "Are you quite sure it is wise to mock the one whom holds your life in the palm of his hand? One twitch of my blade and you will bleed out before any aid can be administered."

She returned the glare, not intimidated in the least. "I wouldn't take that bet were I standing in your shoes. Touch so much as a hair on my head and Erasmus will pull you apart digit by digit. Who will take care of Amy if that happens?" Raphael looked taken aback for a moment, and that moment was exactly what she needed to scoot away just long enough to get to her feet. "Before you ask how I know, Taki is a very informed woman when it comes to people like us, those that keep getting swept up in the race for Soul Edge."

Raphael's glare returned, and the long blade was raised into a dueling posture. "I wasn't aware that woman was on good enough terms with anyone to share secrets."

After a moment contemplating a response she had a rather brilliant idea, and perhaps a new level of wicked for her. "Well, we are both married to the same man. She'd better be on good terms with me."

Raphael plastered an arrogant smirk across his face again. "Then you both have been reduced to simple harem women. I'm afraid though, that your master is going to be quite disappointed when you don't return to him."

She felt a smile slowly spread across her lips. "Speaking of him, do you happen to know who my husband is?"

Raphael rolled his eyes, clearly still unimpressed. "Athenian, the only man I have ever heard of that would give me pause is this 'Overlord' that appeared out of nowhere and sacked Wolfkrone. But, once I posses Soul Calibur then even he will be no match for me." There was a pause as they both waited, then a slight note of suspicion slipped into the former noble's voice. "Wait, you wouldn't possibly be insinuating-"

She finished the thought. "That the Overlord is my husband? Why yes I am, and I'm rightly proud of it."

Raphael dropped his guard to point an accusatory finger her way. "You're lying. This is a painfully obvious attempt to make me afraid."

She lowered her defenses; quite sure Raphael wasn't going to do anything stupid. "Do you even notice all the changes that one year have wrought upon me? The clothes, the weapons…" She leaned forward and brought a finger up to her left eye, "… and most importantly, these." She crossed her arms, noting that the other fighters were still giving the two of them a very wide berth. "He's right over there, ripping Voldo apart with his bare hands. I can call him over if you like, so you can ask him in person whether or not I'm lying about being his wife."

Raphael seemed to be unable to resist turning his gaze in the direction she indicated, and the sight she described planted a genuine glint of fear in the man's eyes. "I, no, I think I'll take your word for it."

She was absolutely beaming, and she knew it. "Smart move." Then another idea hit her. "Oh, speaking of which, would you consider, now how did Erasmus say it, 'bend your knee to the Overlord?"

Raphael looked aghast, fear gone in an instant. "What, me, a servant? Your mind must truly be changed if you think I would even consider such a proposition."

She kept smiling, and threw the sucker punch. "If not for your own well being, do it for Amy. She deserves a good home doesn't she?"

Raphael didn't answer immediately, but she knew from the look in his eyes that she had won.

Ostrhinesburg: Castle Courtyard

The Overlord kicked the severed head of his last opponent, a blind man that moved in an admittedly freakish way, out over the continuing battle, laughing on the inside while he did so. Such morbid things entertained him, as should be obvious enough by the array of torture implements he kept well used in the dungeon. Further, it was absolutely delightful to watch the less experienced warriors get covered in blood and lose what modicum of calm they had.

He flung the remaining limbs and torso, with similar results, "**Raining blood baby!**"

Inside his head, Setsuka's voice rang like a bell. "You, really enjoy the violence that much?"

The arc of his next sword swing decapitated two and disemboweled a third. "**We all have our vices Setsuka. Mine is that I simply enjoy my work and like to publicize that fact. With you, I believe it would be your temper, no?**"

The reply was hesitant. "Well, yes. I suppose it would be at that."

He shot a kick behind him, collapsing the chest cavity of a young woman that looked barely out of her twenties. "**Ha, hesitant to admits your faults, nothing wrong with that.**" A quick parry followed by a strong right hook crushed a man's skull like porcelain beneath a troll. "**If I may be so bold as to suggest a new topic of conversation, we still haven't gone over what to do with that room you find yourself sleeping in upstairs. So, I'll broach the topic, any ideas?**"

Setsuka seemed even thrown even further by the sudden switch. "Ah, well, I, I like flowers."

Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw two particular people that seemed to be making a beeline for him and made a mental note as to what direction they were coming from. "**Anything specific? Flowers is a rather broad spectrum to go on, but I could always go with the trademark roses.**" He shot a glance back towards the two warriors, one boy and one girl, and confirmed that they were indeed after him. "**You know what Setsuka, I'm going to have to ask you to hold that thought for a little bit.**"

The boy approached first, unarmored and wielding a staff that had the light scent of magic lingering about it. He was followed closely by the girl, an oriental with brown hair that looked quite young, wielding a small blade that was little more than a long knife to him. The blade didn't smell of magic, but reminded him a bit of something Jewel the Thief had used at some point. This made him make a mental note to keep the girl in sight at all times. It would take a lot of pricks from that weapon to bring him down, but it was simply bad form to get stuck in the back by a girl that probably only came of childbearing age a month or two ago. As per his prediction the instant he engaged the boy the girl tried to move around behind him, and he would admit that it looked like they had practiced the routine quite a few times. His reaction was to completely ignore the boy with the staff and concentrate on eliminating one nuisance at a time. The loud clack of the staff hitting his armor was only a minor concern, and was again a matter of knowing his own limits and what his armor could handle.

As the girl frantically parried the pulled blows he sent towards her she started to speak. "Please, you don't know what you're doing. Soul Edge is an-"

He finished the trite sentence. "**An Evil sword that devours the souls of those that attempt to wield it, I know. I also know that I'm going to try and possess it regardless of what you dime a dozen heroes say to dissuade me. If I can use the blade, perfect. If I can't, then I'll simply destroy it and conquer this world with the already more-than-capable resources that I have available to me.**" He delivered a light backhand to the girl's face. "**Learn to get that through your heroic skull.**"

A feather-light weight settled upon his shoulders, and it took a second for him to realize that the boy had actually jumped on his back in an effort to restrain him. "Xiangua, now's your chance!"

The girl, or Xiangua, might as well have been moving through molasses for all the good the more-than-obvious attack was going to do. But all the same, it was an opportunity to rub salt in the wound of their inevitable defeat. At the last possible moment he spun on his heel, presenting the back of the boy to the blade that Xiangua was lunging with. Judging from the gasp of pain from the boy, and the cry of horror from Xiangua, his little manipulation had worked perfectly.

He brushed away the hands of the boy that were still clinging to his mantle. "**Maybe next time you wish to attack someone far your superior, if there is one, try to make sure they don't have more fighting experience that both of your lives put together.**" It was an exaggeration, but he doubted they knew, or would care if they did.

When he turned around he was treated to the sight of the boy struggling to stand, with Xiangua pleading to him to do the opposite. "Killik you can't, you're hurt. Don't do this!"

"Killik," who was now sporting a thumb-sized hole where his heart should be, shook his head. "Xiangua, I'm dying already. The least I can do is give you a fighting chance."

Before the girl could say anything more he broke in. "**Ugh, give it a rest will you? You're being melodramatic enough to have a theater built around you. And I must emphasize that I am not in any way complimenting you.**" He brought his right foot down, flipping Killik's staff into the air next to him before catching it. "**View this as a demonstration of my displeasure.**" He swung the staff like it was an axe, connecting with the tip right on Killik's temple; "**Time to redecorate, in brain-matter grey.**"

Quite a bit of that brain-matter grey ended up on Xiangua's face, who dropped to her knees, sobbing. "Killik, why, why did you have to…"

He found this quite funny, as it lined up with an old, romantic tragedy he had once read. "**Oh, I'm sorry, but my reservoir of 'give a damn' is completely empty. Perhaps if you were better with a blade you wouldn't have stabbed him.**" After a long moment where it became clear to him that Xiangua wasn't going to get up for at least a few hours he let out a sigh, "**Suit yourself.**" He slammed the staff into a notch in the flagstones beneath his feet, wedging the weapon firmly in place, before lashing out with his newly free hand and seizing the girl by the throat. "**Think of it this way, you get to meet your lover in Hell far before nature would allow.**"

He sheathed his blade and placed his left hand against Xiangua's belly, lifting the woman high into the air before bringing her down and impaling her upon her lover's weapon, from the bottom up.

He used one of the dying woman's limbs for leverage and spun the soon-to-be corpse around on the pole. "**Round and around she goes, where she'll stop nobody knows.**" He turned away and directed his thoughts back towards Setsuka. "**So, cherry blossoms for your room, at least to start?**"

Setsuka didn't answer, but she really didn't have to. Around him the battle was dying down as only the best of the best were left standing. Several were just standing there watching him through the eye-slits of helmets, or from under the brim of large hats. It was a look he recognized, fear and respect. Those giving him said look would serve him, and it was a fairly large crowd. He turned his gaze upon the large castle in the center of the city, towering over him and emanating a dark challenge that he would be more than happy to accept.


	16. Overlord Forever

Chapter 16: Overlord Forever

Erasmus Kilgore stood in front of the small battalion of warriors that were freshly sworn to him. Most were men, and almost all were heavily armored. The scant handful of women were armored as well, but lightly. The armor rather went with the weaponry to be truthful; most of the men were using large, double-handed weapons like broadswords and battleaxes. The women, almost exclusively, were wielding small blades like rapiers and knives.

He stopped in front of one of the few unarmored men, one with light blond hair and pale red eyes. "**You seem to be cut from a different cloth than the rest. What brought you to this, if I may say, fairly wise decision?**"

The man shot a glare past him, towards Sophitia. "Ask your blushing bride."

He looked back and forth between the man and his bride, and then crossed the distance between the two of them. "**A little bird mentioned that you seem to have, at the very least, developed something of a silver tongue. Now, I really don't need anyone else to tell me of your skills in that category…**"

Sophitia's face turned a shade similar to her eyes, and she lowered the volume of her voice. "You, you're really going to compliment me on, well, that, in public?"

He gave Sophitia's chin a nudge to line up their eyes. "**Nowhere we can really be overheard. That said, I'm still quite curious as to how you managed to convince that snooty noble to turn his sword elsewhere.**"

The blush remained, and the blonde pulled a stray bit of hair back over her ear. "Well, to be entirely truthful I think I took a few pages out of your book. I remembered something Taki once told me about Raphael's foster daughter, Amy. I figured, um, that if he really cared about her as a father should then he would put her welfare above his own pride."

He nodded once, responding almost without thinking. "**As well he should. A father's first concern should be for his family, blood related or not.**"

A light smile twitched the corners of Sophitia's mouth upwards. "You know, I'm actually really happy to hear you say that."

With a mind for hidden meaning, something struck a chord with him. "**Wait, you aren't about to tell me that you're pregnant, are you?**"

A short laugh was the answer. "No, at least not yet. I'd like to say yes though."

He glanced back towards the crowd to make sure the conversation was still private. "**You do remember what I told you about Overlords being sterile, or so close as to make no difference?**"

The smile became melancholy, "I do, just…" Sophitia shook her head and deftly changed the topic. "Have you heard from Ivy yet?"

He turned to gaze up at the castle. "**No, she mentioned that she had something personal she wanted to take care of, but she sounded rather pensive when we spoke. That was about thirty minutes ago.**" He set a hand on Sophitia's shoulder without really looking, changing the topic again. "**You can keep these people in line while I go in and take down Nightmare? Don't answer that, I know you can.**" He leaned over and planted a light kiss on the blonde's cheek before taking a few steps towards the castle gates. "**Give me an hour, and I'll be back out with Soul Edge held before me.**"

Sophitia called to him as he reached the castle gates, "And if the sword proves too much?"

He responded, "**Then I shall exit bearing its broken remains.**"

Ostrhinesburg Castle: Entrance Hall

The Overlord pulled the large doors closed behind him, noting the symbolism of "no turning back," but that wasn't exactly a big piece of news. On the interior, he was immediately struck by the decidedly Evil décor. The black suits of armor that lined the side walls, spiked metal glistening in the low light like the claws of a feral beast. The red banners, only slightly disturbed by his entrance, fluttering by the tiniest of margins. Each banner bore the image of a single eye, wreathed in azure flames. Furthermore, he could smell the darkness lingering in the air, see it in the flickering torches, hear it in the utter silence. This atmosphere would have terrified most heroes; he on the other hand, found it exhilarating. So much so that he actually, for a moment, entertained the idea of moving his permanent home to this city. Then he remembered the memories his brides had shared with him of Ostrhinesburg, the pain that it had caused them, and he abandoned the idea without a sliver of regret.

He started forward, noting how his boots sank a good inch into the rich carpet covering the center section of the floor, deciding that even if he wasn't going to move in didn't mean he couldn't requisition a few choice pieces for the Dark Tower. On that topic, the rug he was walking on would be one of the first things to be taken. He could really use something to replace the fabric on the stairs back home, which was starting to get a bit mangy. The possibility that Sarah would accidentally incinerate the thing mere moments after installation occurred to him, and forced an exasperated sigh out of his lungs.

A sound in the gloom ahead of him brought reality crashing back to the fore and he had his sword out almost before he could blink. Truly, he was going off of the assumption that Nightmare was going to be a real threat compared to everyone else he had come across. That, and he wanted to think that Soul Edge would be a more powerful blade than what he already had. Anything else would just have been utterly anticlimactic considering all the trouble he'd gone through to get this far.

He knew that there had to be someone there, but he refused to utter the horribly trite "hello," so he fashioned his own query. "**You, the one hiding in the dark. I know you're there, so step out before I immolate you on the spot.**" He was answered with silence. "**Have it your way then, burn.**"

He threw a fireball into the gloom and there was a scant moment when, illuminated by the flames, he caught a glimpse of a face. It was female, almost childish in appearance, and the look in the eyes spoke of nothing but complete insanity. Once the image was gone, he was assaulted by the giggle of a maniac, confirming what his eyes had seen, both the childish and insane aspects of whoever was skulking in the dark.

He lit another fireball, holding it in his hand for extra illumination rather than throwing it as he stalked forward. "**I'm only going to say this…**"

There was a whooshing sound behind which he spun to meet with his blade, clashing with a large steel ring held in the hands of the girl he had briefly seen, now fully illuminated by the fireball held in his free hand. She was short, coming up no higher than his elbow, with pasty white skin and armored gloves that held onto the ring.

The girl's lips parted and unleashed the most grating of voices. "Goody, I found a new toy to play with, and he likes to talk back!"

His eyes narrowed, not liking the fact that he was being referred to as a toy, even if the one saying it was a lunatic. "**I don't know what you are on, or what mental deficiency you are suffering from, but I do know one very important detail about you that makes all the difference.**"

The girl's jovial attitude did a complete flip, becoming hate filled and angry near-instantaneously. "What could that possibly be?"

He twisted his sword and stuck it into the middle of the ring blade, "**This.**" With a quick pull he ripped both the ring blade and the girl's fingers away. "**Your choice in weapons is absolutely idiotic.**" He flipped his grip on his sword and drove the point down through the top of her head, erasing the problem at its source. "**Well, I guess I seem to be rather good at curing madness. That's two in a few months.**"

Chuckling, he cleaned the blood off of his blade and advanced still further into the dark, dousing the fireball and letting his burning gaze light the way.

Ostrhinesburg: Castle Courtyard

Sophitia stood in front of the castle gates, arms crossed, foot tapping the ground anxiously. She knew that barely any time had passed, but she still wanted to check in with Erasmus. It was an impulse she was doing her best to resist, but she was fighting her very nature, and not having much success.

She muttered under her breath. "I am not going to constantly worry about this. I am not."

A voice she knew well by now rang out behind her, snide as ever. "A futile proclamation if I ever heard one."

She turned her head and shot a half-hearted glare at the woman strutting across the courtyard flagstones. "Hello to you to Ivy, and for your information I am working on it." She put a hand to her forehead, warding off the feeble beginnings of a headache. "Just to keep me occupied, why don't you fill me in on this personal errand you had to run."

A wry smile pulled the corners of Ivy's mouth up. "Maybe I should just let you think on it for a few days."

An agonized groan escaped her. "Ivy, help me out here. Please?"

Something happened that surprised her; Ivy's smile vanished her eyes seemed to lose their focus. "Oh? And maybe I don't feel like talking about this for once."

She was quiet for a moment as she tried to remember why Ivy had been so set on charging into Ostrhinesburg earlier. "You, you fought your father didn't you? Cervantes?"

A well-worn scowl crossed Ivy's features, and the anger in her voice sounded forced. "Oh, gee, you think? The whole reason I wanted to be one of us that didn't get stuck with guard duty. Why wouldn't I have found him?"

A moment passed before she took the obvious guess. "You killed him, didn't you? I mean, that's what you were trying to do this whole time right?"

Ivy threw her hands up and started towards the edge of the moat. "Yes, you guessed it! All these years of chasing him, trying to avenge myself against him for everything he ever took from me. And I finally did it, I killed him. The stupid thing is that I feel bad about it!" Ivy plopped down on the stone rim right next to the drawbridge. "The man ruined my life, haunted my steps, and stole most of my soul. There is no reason for me to be sick to my stomach every time I think about it!"

She took a seat next to the other woman, folding her legs beneath her. "Well, he was your father. It stands to reason that there must have been at least one point in time where he knew your real mother, and loved her." She couldn't help but add, "Of course, there does exist the possibility that your real mother was just a tavern girl but…"

Ivy let out something halfway between a cough and a snarl. "Oh, and that just makes me feel so much better."

The realization hit her. "You buried him, didn't you?"

Ivy's attitude didn't change in the slightest. "Ha, what was left of him, which wasn't much."

She chose her words carefully, somewhat surprised that this conversation was actually happening. "So, you did right by the man that he might once have been. That and, well now you have a new life that he can't touch."

Ivy looked off into the distance for a long while, an angry look still plastered across her face. "Why exactly do I find myself opening up to you so damned often? First that little chat we had before you booted me into Evernight, which I must remind you that I am not holding against you. Then you get me to speak freely about my adoptive parents while we were waiting for Erasmus to get here, whom I haven't spoken of ever. Now I'm spilling my guts about how I feel over killing my father." Ivy shook her head. "Are you starting to borrow little speech tricks from Erasmus?"

Her left arm looped up and around the other woman's shoulder. "Maybe I am, maybe I am."

Ostrhinesburg Castle: Inner Reaches

The Overlord stalked forward, having long ago become fully accustomed to the darkness. In the near absence of light he could now see the very cracks in the stones beneath his feet. With that same sight he could see that the opulence had faded, but that was a reasonable thing to expect with any functional castle. Of course the downside was that his heavy footfalls echoed off the stone around him, loud enough to wake the dead in a conservative opinion. He took another step and froze, certain that he had heard something else besides the clang of his boots on the floor.

He glared down the passage where he was sure the extra sound had come from, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. It momentarily occurred to him to reach out to Sophitia to see if anyone else had gone in after him, but knowing the blonde she would have been the one to contact him if someone had bulled through the formation out front.

He narrowed his eyes, willing the darkness to part. "**Come now, it's a good day to die. I'm a sporting warrior, come on out and we can settle this man to man.**"

As soon as he uttered the last word a weight landed on his back, high near his neck. A blow glanced off of his shoulder, then further still off of his helmet. After recovering from the stagger he reached up and seized hold of the ambusher, throwing his attacker down the hall. What entered his vision was a grotesque mixture of reptile and man, something that stood on two feet, but was covered in scales from the tip of its long tail to the end of its horned head. Its roar was loud, but closer to the hiss of a serpent than the roar of a rock giant. Also, seemingly just to piss him off, the lizard stuck its tongue out at him.

He eyed the lizard's axe and shield while formulating a plan. "**You know, I think Isabella would really like a pair of lizard-skin boots. Dye them the right color and they'd go perfectly with her favorite outfit.**" He drew his blade and began to edge his way forward. "**I'll have to keep that in mind. Try and save as much of your hide as I can.**"

The lizard-man bound forward, utilizing all four limbs and the walls to make an erratic approach even more so. He placed his free hand on the pommel, ready to twist the blade around after intercepting the axe to disembowel his animalistic enemy; however, before he could do so the lizard stopped outside of sword range, tail lashing forward to loop around his left ankle. He was too heavy in his armor to be completely thrown down, but he did lose his balance. Taking advantage of that, his opponent pounced, toothed maw going for the narrow gap at his throat.

He brought his off hand up and grabbed the beast's incoming neck. "**You know, some people might be into bestiality, but I sure as Hell am not.**"

He used his full strength to kick the lizard in the gizzard. The bone made an audible sound as it snapped, almost like a leg-sized tree breaking. Blood spewed from the thing's mouth, peppering the chest of his armor and his face.

He climbed to his feet, wiping at the blood with the hand not holding his sword; "**Half man, half animal, all dead.**"

Ostrhinesburg: Castle courtyard

Ivy sat by the drawbridge, turned towards the crowd so she could watch the show of Taki and Hildegard bringing all of the troops in, Hildegard in particular. After being put on the spot by Erasmus about a day ago she had, well, for lack of a better word made a move on Sophitia and Taki. To say that it had gone badly was an understatement. Taki had just been dense and Sophitia had brushed her off with eyes the size of gold coins. But Hildegard, if she wanted to test her theory or whatever the hell it was, she couldn't ask for a better guinea pig that she could abuse with impunity. She had it in her head that Erasmus wouldn't mind, after all he hated her. What was the harm? Speaking of harm, and she hated to admit it, but spilling her guts to Sophitia had done the exact opposite of harm. It was slightly funny to her that Sophitia, whom she had often said was somewhat weak-willed, was the one holding her hand.

A fuss over on the other side of the courtyard drew her attention, and she let out a sigh before slowly climbing to her feet. "What sort of trouble could she possibly have gotten into now?"

As she picked her way across the corpse-strewn courtyard she noticed that there was someone else standing with Sophitia and Taki, other than the negligible former queen. The extra person was another woman, and from here it was hard to tell her apart from Sophitia. The realization brought an amused huff out of her when she identified the woman, or girl, as Sophitia's younger sister, Cassandra. Apparently at the same time Sophitia made the same revelation, and the shriek of unbridled joy was surprisingly uplifting.

Sophitia's weepy voice was easily audible, even where she was halfway across the courtyard. "I can't believe it's you! I thought you were dead!"

Cassandra's objection however, was even louder and spoken so fast that it was impossible to say when one sentence ended and another began. "What the hell are you doing? I have no idea who you are!"

Sophitia was pushed away, and her hurt was as palpable as getting shoved against a brick wall. "Wha-but-sis, don't you recognize me?"

Cassandra's face contorted with rage, and she started to reach for the weapons that someone had been stupid enough to leave on her. "You are NOT my sister. My sister was a good person. You are obviously Evil."

She muttered to herself. "I can't watch this anymore." She drew her blade and lashed out with it, snaring the younger Alexandra around the left ankle before giving the line a mighty yank. "Why don't you settle down and listen for a change?"

Sophitia knelt beside her sister, still not taking either sword or shield. "Please sis, our parents had a bakery, and until last year I was married to Rothion the blacksmith."

Cassandra started to shoot back. "Oh yeah, what about-"

Sophitia finished, "My two children, Pyrrah and Patralkos. Please do not make me relive that after I've worked so hard to come to terms with it."

Cassandra looked taken aback, and then absolutely ashamed. "By the gods sis, I am so sorry!"

The following teary-eyed embrace was enough to warm any heart, her own included. But she was already sufficiently bored which, along with a desire to take her mind off of her dead father, caused her to sashay over behind Hildegard and place her hands on the young woman's hips.

She whispered in Hildegard's ear. "What say I drag you off into a nice, quiet place and do certain unspeakable things to you?"

The former queen turned only her head. Fear glittering deep in her eyes. "What, but I thought-"

The display of fear made her feel much better, and a grin spread across her face. "I believe your job was not to let anyone else into the city. You failed that task, and that means I get to do with you what I will." She gave Hildegard a mighty shove towards one of the small, grey hamlets that comprised the majority of the city structure. "Just do as I say and you'll probably enjoy this as much as I will."

Ostrhinesburg Castle: Throne Room

The Overlord stopped walking while he examined the large double doors in front of him, noting that they were not in any way barred. It would seem that Nightmare was open to challengers so long as they made the effort of getting to him, or it, or whatever. Considering that Sophitia had told him Nightmare was basically Soul Edge itself given a metal shell for a body he was forced to wonder what it would take to kill such an entity. Would he be forced to resort to magic? Or would he be able to use his blade like he preferred?

He shook his head at the pointless musing. "**No turning back now. Just get this over with and get out of here so the countries of the world can start falling like dominoes.**"

He kicked the door in and started to take a step forward, but pulled back before he plummeted into the wide crevice conveniently placed right behind the double doors. Apparently, Nightmare had a sense of humor. After all, how ignominious would it have been for him to come all this way and die from a simple fall into a pit?

He glanced up and took notice of the azure suit of armor sitting on the throne at the opposite end of the hall. "**Absolutely brilliant, I'm stunned into silence by the scope of your comic genius.**" He vaulted over the crevice into the center of the throne room. "**This confrontation has been a long time in the making, so why don't you save the both of us some time and get down here?**"

Slowly, the Azure Knight stood from the throne and he noticed that about half of the figure was composed of the giant, glowing red blade that was held in the giant, mutated right hand/claw. He couldn't help but draw comparisons between Nightmare and the suits of armor that again lined the walls. Truly, it looked as though someone had taken one of the simple yet effective suits of armor and gone to town on it in a drunken rage with a sledgehammer, and then let a demon warp the metal still further. He'd dealt with demons before, so he was in a perfect position to make that judgment.

Nightmare stepped down to even footing with him, surprisingly short considering the hype. "_You only hasten your own destruction!_"

The voice was a raspy, guttural sound that simply conveyed the impression of burning. In fact, he could smell the slight odor of scorched metal on the air now that Nightmare had spoken, which essentially confirmed that Soul Edge was a demonic sword, a good start.

He drew his blade and held it at the ready. "**Wouldn't you like to think so?**" All Nightmare did was roar, which prompted a further response. "**Tsk tsk, no sense of humor at all. If I weren't already going to kill you for the sword I would kill you for being such a burden on my ears.**"

Nightmare swung first, betraying two things about him, or itself. One, Nightmare was possessed of an almost berserker-level aggression, which could work either for or against him. Two, the gleaming red blade was significantly longer than his own sword, and the difference in length between their arms was negligible. That gave Nightmare the advantage at first glance, but strength hadn't yet been tested, or simple skill. With a deft twist of his blade he deflected Soul Edge off to one side, but Nightmare reacted instantly by rebounding and swinging in from the other side, which he could only avoid with a quick dash backwards.

He was forced to retreat again, and Nightmare started to taunt him. "_Yes, that's it, cower in fear before me!_"

He blocked a high, vertical strike and flatly responded. "**That's my line.**" He pushed up on his sword and used the momentary lapse in Nightmare's balance to kick the azure armor in the chest. "**Don't gloat unless you're winning, and at the moment neither of us are.**"

Nightmare skipped backwards and to the left, again attacking with the last two feet of Soul Edge, leaving the armor cleanly out of his reach again. "_I have consumed thousands of souls, what makes you think you will be any different?_"

He pressed the advantage, dashing forward and reaching the cross-guard of the red blade. "**Because I don't exactly care what happens here so long as I walk out of Ostrhinesburg the only force of Evil left to consume the world, it is my unique privilege as an Overlord.**"

He nudged Soul Edge up with his left shoulder, noting with a mixture of approval and alarm that the red blade cleanly sliced off most of the decorative arcanium spines, before stabbing his weapon right through the open section of nightmare's armor. A long moment passed, and absolutely nothing happened.

Nightmare glanced down at the sword piercing the swirling vapor that comprised his midsection, and chuckled. "_Ha ha, that tickles._"

He silently cursed as Nightmare punched him in the face with the mutated right hand, followed quickly by a punch to the stomach strong enough to push some wind out of his lungs, which was again followed by a full body drop kick that put him on his back. Nightmare then tried to drive Soul Edge down into his stomach and finish him off, but a contortion of his spine and a back handed slap to the incoming blade kept him alive and gave him the time he needed to get back to his feet. Something else came to his attention from that exchange though, how Nightmare desperately stumbled after the red blade when he/it could easily have let go and pressed a good advantage. After a mental review, he realized that Nightmare never completely let go of the sword even once. Whether this was a weakness or not remained to be seen, but it was easily worth pursuing. After all, even if removing Soul Edge from Nightmare's grasp didn't end the duel it would at least make things monumentally easier.

He waited until Nightmare was about to throw a low, horizontal swing, and timed a short hop that put both of his feet on the wide blade, driving Nightmare to the ground as the Azure Knight again refused to let go of Soul Edge. He dove on the hand holding the red blade, brining his face mere inches from the eye set into the hilt. In that position, wrestling for the blade, he found himself projecting his will towards Soul Edge, pushing with his mind for the blade to submit. What happened made him unsure if he had been successful or not, because just when he felt he had enough torque to wrest the blade fully away from Nightmare he simply came away, Soul Edge grasped in both hands.

He held Soul Edge up in front of him in his right hand, staring into the eye of the sword. "**Now, what-**"

An explosion of orange light cut him off and he felt tendrils of Evil wrapping towards his mind with the speed and force of a hammer crashing down on an anvil.

Ostrhinesburg: Castle Courtyard

Sophitia held a hand across her heart, trying and failing over and over to calm herself down after the bona fide miracle that had just happened to her. Her sister was still alive, she didn't think there was any possible way she could have been luckier. She wanted to contact Erasmus and crow about her good fortune, but she retained the good sense to not interrupt him when he might be involved in a pitched duel with Nightmare. So she filled the time by, and there was no other way to say it, interrogating Cassandra as to her whereabouts over this last year. Even as she heard though, she really didn't care about the little details. She was just happy that Cassandra was here, even if their reunion had been a bit rocky.

Cassandra was finishing the story, even though she hadn't been listening for most of it. "… and when I heard that rumor about you, I just had to see for myself." Cassandra hesitated for a moment, an out of character event. "Sis, I'm sorry about how I reacted when-"

She waved off the apology. "I know it was a hard thing to swallow all at once. Worse than the idea I had to deal with maybe when I first met Erasmus."

At the mention of her husband, Cassandra immediately became uncomfortable. "Right, sis, about this guy, are you, sure that you can trust him?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Cassandra, he's saved my life multiple times already, going far out of his way to do so. I trust him more than I've ever trusted anyone." She turned her gaze towards the castle gates. "No offence sis, but I find it hard to regret anything so far, no matter how much it hurt, because my life brought me here."

Before Cassandra could form an answer the gates of the castle cracked open, and she shot up without a thought to be the first one waiting for her husband as he exited with his prize. She ran to the end of the drawbridge, and froze, horror chilling her to the bone. There could be no doubt that the figure exiting the castle was Erasmus, his height, build, and armor were unmistakable. But there was a black haze in the air around him, more intense than ever, visible until it tapered off about a foot away from him. His eyes glowed red, a far deeper red than blood, a red so deep it felt like staring would drag you down into the Infernal Abyss. Completing the terrifying image, Soul Edge gleamed in Erasmus's right hand. To her, the eye looked astonishingly smug, mocking her with the culmination of a nightmarish reality.

She just fell to her knees, letting her sword fall from her grip, knowing that there was no point in trying to fight even if she had been able to bring her weapon to bear on the man she loved. Soul Edge, with The Overlord as it's puppet, would be completely unstoppable. An unmistakable shadow fell upon her, and she looked up into the blazing eyes hope long abandoning her. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel the bite of the crimson blade, almost inviting it.

A long moment of darkness passed, and a voice interjected itself. "**Sophitia? Sorry if the new look is a bit disconcerting, but some things just can't be avoided.**"

Her eyes snapped open so fast that it almost hurt. "What, but I thought-"

As oftentimes happened, The Overlord's free hand darted forward and planted an index finger across her lips. "**Darling, for once I understand your concerns. Soul Edge attempted to invade my mind when I pried it from Nightmare's grasp, but as should be obvious from my not attempting to murder all of you, he failed.**"

She started to respond, "I couldn't care less about the sword I'm just happy you're…" She stopped as the last few words spoken registered. "Wait, did you just call Soul Edge a 'he?"

Erasmus brought the object of discussion up into view. "**Well, given the voice he uses to speak with me I'd be quite hard pressed to think of him as a female.**"

As if in response, a voice floated into the air that seemed to be made of sheer malice. "_Not to mention that I would despise being referred to as feminine in any way._"

She deigned to ignore the Evil sword and focus on happier news. To that end she took hold of the hand not clasped around Soul Edge. "Well, never mind that. I have someone you simply must meet."

Erasmus followed, and she could tell that he was essentially allowing himself to be led by the amused lilt in his voice. "**So darling, what might be the nature of this social call? Business or pleasure?**"

Having had her fears, or rather nightmares averted a peal of laughter burst out of her mouth. "A bit of both now that you mention it." She spotted Cassandra and eagerly waved her younger sister over. "Cassandra, this is my husband, Overlord Erasmus Kilgore. Erasmus, this is my sister, Cassandra."

Erasmus extended a hand, which took Cassandra a moment to accept. Considering her sister, that moment was an eternity. But from the "handshake" she could tell that Cassandra was being her usual aggressive self and trying to force some show of weakness from Erasmus. She loved her sister, but from what she already knew Cassandra was wasting her time. Still, it was rather funny to watch.

The voice of The Overlord in her head commanded her attention. "**Just between you and me for now, that title you addressed me by might have to be amended some time in the future. I hesitate to use the term earth-shattering, but it fits with the piece of knowledge I had pop into my head moments ago.**" There was a pause during which Erasmus said something aloud that she didn't quite hear before he started speaking to her mind again. "**I'm sure you recall that giant crown mounted on the wall above my bed, you've gazed up at it often enough. That is the crown of The Forgotten God, the god that was cursed so that no mortal could remember his name. The Evil god that I killed.**" Erasmus looked skyward for quite some time, before speaking aloud again. "**And I remember his name, it was _.**"

Instead of a word, a harsh buzz filled her ears right after Erasmus spoke the word "was" and dissipated immediately. "Wait, what, what was the last thing you said?"

The Overlord nodded knowingly. "**Just didn't hear, right? A bit of selective deafness? I know the feeling. Every time the Forgotten God tried to scream his name at me.**"

Cassandra screeched, "What in the name of Hera are you talking about?"

Erasmus turned towards her sister. "**Ah, right, sorry about that. Sophitia and I have a rather special connection. If she is willing she can hear my thoughts, and vice versa.**" He paused and an amused ring entered his voice. "**That doesn't disturb you, I hope? That your sister and two other women are-**"

The Overlord's head snapped up and Soul Edge whipped forward, swatting Cassandra with the broadside of the blade before clashing with a crystalline blue sword.

Ostrhinesburg: Castle Courtyard

The Overlord glared daggers at the young man with blonde hair that had attempted a sneak attack on him, using Cassandra's body as a brief human shield. He regretted that he had struck Sophitia's sister, but it was either that or watch the girl get impaled upon the glowing blade he was fighting against. His fresh opponent was covered from toe to neck in what looked like ice, but smelled strongly of holy energy. Yet the smell had an undertone of darkness to it, not altogether different from Soul Edge in point of fact. A scar marred the face of the young man, crossing over one eye. He doubted that the mark hindered vision at all so it was a negligible concern.

Soul Edge spoke in his head, answering questions before he could ask them. "_Soul Calibur, the blade created by Algol time immemorial from a piece of myself to be my undoing. As you have no doubt noticed though, she is possessed of the Hero King's ambition just as I am. The boy is Siegfried, my former host. A pathetic example of the already weak human race._"

He threw a heavy vertical slash, adapting his own style to accommodate the larger weapon, before responding in kind. "**So you could technically call Soul Calibur your daughter? Ironic isn't it, that your own family is trying to kill you?**"

He parried an incoming thrust and answered with one of his own, connecting with Siegfried's left shoulder and cracking the crystal. After a few more exchanges he boiled the confrontation down in his head, as always taking inventory of which fighter held the advantages. Soul Edge and Soul Calibur were roughly the same length, so the reach edge was moot. Although he did note that Siegfried had a penchant for attempting to elongate his reach momentarily with exceptionally long stabs that left the young man open. The strength edge was a no contest victory for him, as usual, but his opponent seemed to dislike real close confrontations, something he could exploit. When it came to speed, he was again the winner, as it was clear Soul Calibur's weight was slowing Siegfried's swings down. In contrast, Soul Edge felt as light as a feather duster, even though the demonic blade probably weighed as much as Sophitia's whole body. Of course, he was guessing on that because his First Mistress had never actually told him what she weighed.

He held Soul Edge flat against his back, intercepting another slash before bringing his free elbow up and smashing it against Siegfried's nose, "**Bada bing.**"

Most people would have staggered backwards, which Siegfried did, but the young man did so without dropping Soul Calibur to clutch at his nose. That was assuming though that he could let go of the "holy" sword even if he wanted to. Considering that Soul Edge had tried to control him, and Soul Calibur was simply born of a splinter, he found himself wondering which opponent was the actual wielder.

He took advantage of the lull to try and talk the boy down. "**Come now Siegfried, certainly you can tell by now that you are grossly out of your league? Why don't you just drop that sword and walk out of here with your life intact?**"

Even though his voice was slightly distorted by the broken nose, which was mending itself at a snail's pace, Siegfried's words were still clear. "I can't do that. My redemption lies in destroying that infernal sword you hold."

He held the so called Infernal blade before him in the ready position. "**Redemption is it? What a terribly trite reason for getting yourself killed.**" At the same time, he mentally shot an aside to Taki. "**If you know what he's talking about, I'd appreciate you filling me in. The shock value just might be enough to get him to drop his guard.**"

His third wife did so while Siegfried stalked around him, crystal blade held straight out. "You're even worse than Nightmare, you know that? Nightmare was dangerous but he was really a mindless, extremely violent brute. You make plans, you organize the forces of Evil to rape their way across the land-"

His eyes narrowed and he held up a hand. "**Stop right there before you dig your own grave, boy. You seem to have a penchant for extremely poor choice in words, and I will tell you why. First, I have never, nor will I ever rape anyone or anything. Conquest is not the same thing, not even remotely. Second, you speak of the organization as if it were a bad thing. Take Wolfkrone, the only kingdom I have conquered thus far, it has never been more prosperous. Granted I killed quite a few people to make it that way, but as the saying goes, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. I will further admit that I do enjoy the killing quite a bit, but I know how to switch that bloodlust off.**" He smiled, ready to use the "shock factor" that he had mentioned to Taki. "**Really, boy, why don't you abandon this pointless quest and do something your father would actually be proud of?**"

Shock was written into every muscle on Siegfried's face. "What, how do you know about-"

He ignored the verbal fumbling and drove his point home. "**I don't know about you, but if I had a son I wouldn't want him to throw his life away in a futile quest for revenge.**" He waited until just after Siegfried had drawn in the breath to object before sharply cutting the boy off. "**And yes, what you are seeking is revenge, not redemption. And I'll tell you the difference; redemption involves the wronged party forgiving the one doing the wrong. Obviously, in your case, the ones you have wronged are beyond caring.**"

For a moment, he saw the resolve in Siegfried's eyes waver, but a new voice entered the conversation, a female one with a harsh, crystalline edge to it. "_No! I will not allow you to corrupt him as you have done to so many._"

Moderately intrigued, he posed a question. "**And, how exactly do you propose to stop me? It's quite clear that your puppet is incapable of doing the deed without copious amounts of assistance. Do you really think you can muster such strength?**"

He did not receive a verbal answer. Instead, the dull sheen covering the length of Soul Calibur's blade brightened to a painful intensity, so bright that he almost staggered backwards from surprise. During that moment, from out of the newly created orb of brilliance, flashed the blade of Soul Calibur which he was barely able to intercept due to an increase in speed and his near blindness. What happened was quite obvious, Soul Calibur had assumed complete control over Siegfried and was therefore able to utilize its maximum potential.

In response to that thought Soul Edge whispered in his mind. "_I could, you know, even the playing field if you so choose._"

He answered out loud as he frantically parried, trying to find a way to take back the initiative. "**At the cost of my will and self-control? You must think me an idiot.**"

A flicker of movement within the orb drew his eye, and he threw all his weight behind a stab at the bit of movement. After a moment, time seemed to slow as he felt something pressing up against his chest. He looked down, and it slowly dawned upon him that he had been impaled though his belly, missing his spine by scant inches. It wasn't so much pain as it was disbelief, that after all of this… He felt Soul Calibur slide out, dimly aware that another blow had taken Soul Edge from his grasp, and fell backwards.

Against the backdrop of Sophitia's mortified screams he heard Soul Calibur's voice speaking with Siegfried's mouth. "_First you, then that corrupted Greek, then everyone else you have twisted. Once you are finished I will finally be able to purify the world._" And just as an insult, a tiny smirk played across Siegfried's glowing visage.

Faced with imminent defeat, not to mention death, his gaze fell to stare at the wound in his abdomen. His ears heard nothing, but his mind was bombarded by both the pleas and commands of his wives. Isabella and Setsuka commanded him to rise, although the latter did so rather timidly. Sophitia and Taki begged him to do the same, and in the back of his mind he was touched that Taki would willingly drop her emotional barrier without any prodding. He looked up and saw the body of Siegfried lift Soul Calibur high, point first, to drive the glittering sword through his heart.

The thought though, the thought of failure, as it flitted mockingly through his mind it sparked something contrary, his pride, his anger, and in response to the direct threat, his love for his brides. The pain was already faint, but as his fury spiked it was blocked out altogether. A rumbling growl built in his lungs, till it felt as though the stone beneath him was vibrating.

His gaze lifted, and his eyes locked on to the point of the crystal sword. He muttered to himself, "**Class, is now in session.**"

With an almost feral cry Siegfried's possessed body drove Soul Calibur down with a force comparable to Rock Adams, but his hands darted forward and clapped together, stopping the holy sword cold. The look of shock on the possessed boy's face was priceless, and far more than was needed to keep him going.

His eyes narrowed to slits as they bore into Siegfried's. "**Lesson number one, don't fuck with an Overlord!**" He gathered his feet beneath him, pushing against the stone, all the while holding his gaze. "**Lesson number two, do not, ever, fuck with an Overlord!**" He slowly stood, mostly for dramatic effect even though it caused his wound to scream at him even through the haze of his rage. "**Lesson number three, remember lessons one and two!**" He gave a mighty heave, and tore Soul Calibur from Siegfried's grasp, drawing his arcanium sword in the same motion, "**Class dismissed!**"

Applying so much force that the word overkill was an understatement he rammed his sword into the young man so hard that his fist went clean through Siegfried's torso. Of course that didn't stop him from pulling back just enough to allow him to rip the young man apart seven different ways in a bloody frenzy. When he was done, he planted his blade in Siegfried's severed skull, considering it the end of an era in his life, and full knowing that the blade would never move again unless he or someone else possessed of utterly inhuman strength decided to claim it.

He glanced towards where Soul Edge had flown when struck from his grasp and simply held out his hand. Soul Edge flew through the air to him like it belonged, but considering who he was it probably did. Then he glanced around at the shocked faces of the people around him, drinking in their surprise, their admiration, and their fear. Of course, there were three faces present that he actually wanted to see, four if he counted Cassandra. He didn't have to wait long, because almost as if the crowd sensed his intentions it parted. To his considerable surprise, Taki was the first one to reach him, and though her eyes were all black, he could now see subtle differences, shades of black, such as the ebony black of her irises compared to the coal black of her pupils.

His third wife glared up at him, glancing down at the closed wound in his stomach only once. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, understand?"

A wolfish grin pulled the corners of his mouth up. "**Oh I seriously will endeavor to achieve that. After all, near-death experiences are not something I relish in any way.**"

His glibness threw Taki off. "Ah, I know that but…" She trailed off without intervention.

He whispered in her ear. "**What say we continue this conversation away from prying ears eh?**"

Taki nodded once before looking off to the right. "One last thing, what are we going to do about that?"

He followed Taki's gaze to where Soul Calibur was now speared into a wall, wailing at the top of her non-existent lungs, exhorting the soldiers nearby to fight the Evil power. Luckily for them, none of his soldiers were taking the offer of sacrificing their wills to have the privilege of dying on the end of Soul Edge.

He chuckled, low and long. "**Oh don't you worry about that. I've got something special in mind for our latest war prize.**" He crossed the distance in three strides and pulled Soul Calibur from the wall, mentally beating the sword into submission the moment his hand touched the hilt. "**I'm sure that if the Tower Heart felt emotion it would enjoy the act of corrupting this fragile construction.**" He turned to address the assembled soldiers. "**Men, return to Wolfkrone keep. Once you arrive you will have three days to do what you will, but once those three days are up we march on the world.**"

There was a cry of "All hail the Overlord" but he was too busy ushering his brides through a portal home to really care. Before he followed though, he cast one long glance towards the horizon, smiling to himself. "**Say what you will of my methods, but The Forgotten God himself, Ubelithon, wouldn't even be a threat to me anymore. Look out world, the God of Evil has arisen again.**"

Dark Tower: Throne Room

Erasmus topped the last step up from the Spawning Pits, gleefully replaying the memory of watching Soul Calibur get struck by that first bolt of raw Evil. He had battered down the sword's psychic barriers himself, so he knew that that first bolt had made it all the way to the holy weapon's core. It didn't matter now if Soul Calibur rallied her mind and fought back, the corruption would spread like the bleeding from a pinprick, slowly.

Sophitia was waiting for him by the stairs, and had traded her usual attire for a white nightdress that stopped just above her knees. "No problems I hope."

He let his eyes wander, tracing the lines of Sophitia's body from rote memory. "**Of course not, Soul Calibur is in as much psychic agony as possible. It may take several years to finish, but the corruption is started.**"

His First Mistress gestured to the red hilt sticking up over his right shoulder. "And him? No more possession attempts?"

His left hand snaked down to the small of Sophitia's back, and then he proceeded to lead the Greek upstairs. "**No, I think he's gotten used to the idea that he's my personal murder machine from now on.**"

The blonde turned her head to look at him. "Which should be quite a long time, right?"

At the top of the stairs, which wasn't far, he answered. "**Well, it should be. Unless the whole God thing goes to my head and makes me stupid.**" He made a rather grandiose gesture towards Sophitia's room, "**Shall we, my most darling of damsels?**"

A tiny glint appeared in the blonde's eyes. "Actually, why don't we use your room this time?"

The look she gave him set his blood to boil, in a very good way. "**Hmm, I like where this is going. Lead on.**"

Sophitia slowly sashayed towards his door, before flashing him a winning smile and vanishing inside.

He made to follow, but as his hand fell upon the door Soul Edge spoke in his mind. "_Are you truly going to force me to bear witness to this perversion?_"

He responded in kind, "**You have an eye, close it. But if it makes you feel better I could leave you in the hallway. Fair warning though, Sarah is on cleaning duty right now and she's not exactly the most dexterous individual with that mop. You're liable to get knocked over and covered in scummy water.**"

Soul Edge chose quickly. "_Then it seems I have no choice but to suffer through your vices of the flesh._"

The minor argument won, he again set a hand on the door to push it inwards, and when he did the sight to greet his eyes made him instantly mutter to himself. "**Dear diary, jackpot.**"

Isabella was seated on the edge of his bed, top half fully on display. "About time, I thought we were going to be old and grey by the time you finished tormenting that holy weapon."

A devious grin spread across his lips as he removed his helmet and set it on the dresser. "**Now, to what do I owe this, exquisite, pleasure?**"

Sophitia leaned back against the headboard, teasing him with the bed sheet. "Oh, you know, just a small celebration. You are going to be the king of the world after all."

He slowly turned his gaze from Sophitia, to Isabella, to Taki, and finally to Setsuka, before speaking. "**Well, in that case I suppose I have only one thing to say.**" He removed Soul Edge from his back and leaned it up against the dresser, eye facing away from the bed. "**Hail to the King, baby!**"


End file.
